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kamaluhkhan · 8 months

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THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

read part two GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you want revenge on luke castellan)

pairing: luke castellan x child of nemesis!reader (gender not specified)

word count: 8.5k

summary: luke hated your guts. he really did. he just hoped that no one could tell how, even after all this, you're still everything to him.

warnings/disclaimer: luke's POV. spoilers for the lightning thief and season 1 of pjo. some heated make-out sessions but no actual smut - MDNI / 18+. mentions of blood + death + alcohol. luke is 19 during tlt but i wrote this with him + reader being 21 by the end of this (this is important for the next part lol). anyways, luke + reader share clothes and lots of intense emotions they maybe possibly don't process in the best way. lots of ANGST - it's a greek tragedy fr!

author's note: welcome to my new hyperfixation! this fic is LONG but i hope she's worth it ♡

♪: the grudge by olivia rodrigo

(i. you have a sharp tongue)

fourteen year old luke was overwhelmed when he first stepped into the hermes cabin. it was loud and overcrowded and no one really seemed to care that they had a new cabinmate. the head counselor showed luke to an empty bed at the back, told him to get settled in, and left without another word. luke dropped his backpack before collapsing on the mattress. it was so thin that he could feel the springs dig into his back.

"you'll get used to it."

luke sat up to see you climbing through the window.

you had a band-aid stuck on your chin, chipped nail polish the color of blackberries, and leather combat boots that looked way too heavy to be wearing in the heat of summer.

“the shitty mattress?”

“i meant the whole chaos of cabin 11, and the way things work around here in general. if you can get used to the shitty mattress, all power to you.”

your tone was friendly enough, playful even. you smiled at him so comfortably it made luke nauseous.

“good to know.” he tried to smile back at you, but his heart wasn’t in it. “i’m luke, by the way.”

“yeah, i know. i’m —”

“y/n!”

you seemed entirely unfazed as the blond who called your name stormed over to you. you rolled your eyes, something only luke could notice, before turning to her.

“someone stole my candy.”

“i’m very sorry to hear that, maddy. gotta be careful around here.” your voice dripped like poisoned honey, deceptively innocent and sweet.

maddy was not having it. she huffed at you. “it was you, wasn’t it?”

“that depends. did you cheat at poker last night? again?”

some of the chatter throughout the cabin paused, heads turning to listen in.

“what? n-no!”

“then you have your answer, maddy.” you exaggerated a sigh, as though you had already won the fight and were annoyed that she came back for more. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have a new camper to show around.”

chiron had already given them a tour, but luke didn’t protest when you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the window with you. your hand was warm in his as you dragged him along to the corner of the cabin where a poorly made ladder waited for you.

“come on.” you started climbing, and only stopped to look down when you realized luke wasn’t following you. “best view of camp. trust me.”

a shiver passed through luke. trust didn’t come easy to him. he also didn’t particularly want to return to a stuffy cabin where all he would do was count reasons he did not want to be there.

so, luke followed you. he sat down next to you on the roof and looked out at the sun shining on his new home, but he couldn't help but be slightly bitter. the gods had gotten all of you into this life of endless danger and battles and monsters, and this was all they had to offer in return: a summer camp.

it just didn't seem fair.

there was something else he noticed then. what was it that chiron had said? camp half-blood was supposed to be a safe haven for all demigods.

“i don’t get it. there are only twelve cabins, but aren’t there, like, a million other gods?”

you straightened your posture then, and turned to luke with a newfound interest.

“camp half-blood only has cabins representing the twelve olympians. apparently, they’re the only ones important enough to have children worth recognizing, and they can’t even do that half the time,” you explained, impertinence laced throughout your words. it seemed like something you could never quite get off your chest.

every demigod knew that the gods didn’t appreciate sarcasm. they didn’t particularly like being called out on their bullshit, either.

you didn’t seem to care; you even rolled your eyes up at the sky, as if challenging zeus himself.

“anyways, that’s why the hermes cabin is so crowded. it takes in campers who are unclaimed or whose parent doesn’t have a cabin at camp. like me.”

“so, who’s your godly parent?”

you fiddled with the leather cord on your neck. it held a few clay beads like the other campers, but there was one silver charm he noticed only you wore — scales, by the looks of it. you clutched onto it.

luke realized that, despite your own advice, maybe you resented having to get used to the way things worked around here, and having to hide your resentment. maybe that was worse than having to sleep on an uncomfortable bed for the rest of your life.

"nemesis. goddess of revenge."

"that's....hardcore."

you scoffed and moved on to twisting the silver ring on your index finger. "a lot of people take it that way, and i think it scares them a bit.”

“so that’s why you’re extra nice to new campers, huh?”

“no, i was just in a good mood today.” you smirked.

“guess i was just lucky, then.”

luke couldn’t help but smile at your laugh — sharp, biting. you nudged your boot against his sneaker, which shifted you closer to him, shoulders practically touching.

“what people don’t understand is that it's more about balance, you know? you do good things, and good things happen to you. at least, they should. you do bad things and….” you pulled out an outrageously big bag of candy, dropped it between you and luke, and winked at him. “you face the consequences.”

“that makes sense.” luke leaned over to grab a handful of gummy bears. “like karma.”

“yeah. exactly.”

you bit the head off a red bear, both of you chewing in silence before you added:

“by the way, i’m sorry about your friend.” you swallowed and caught luke’s gaze.

chiron warned him that word would travel fast around camp about what happened to thalia, and luke had prepared himself for anything — anything but your reaction. there was no pity in your eyes; instead, there was a hint of rage, as though thalia had been your friend, too.

“she deserved more.”

luke’s eyes caught the glint of a knife strapped to your belt. he took another handful of the candy you stole, and he thought about the fire and fearlessness behind your words, and, despite everything, it felt right to be with you then and there.

“yeah,” he finally whispered back. “she did.”

we all do.

neither of you said those words, but the suggestion was there, and it felt like a promise.

(ii. you hold on to every stupid, little detail)

“slow down, tiger.”

your voice echoed throughout the arena, and if luke had been fighting a real opponent, it might have gotten him killed. instead, he just stopped mid-swing, sparing another straw dummy from losing its arm.

“left hand,” you noted as you walked past him towards a bench. “you, my friend, are in need of a break.”

luke loosened the grip on his sword. the only time luke fought with his non-dominant hand was when he had overworked the other. he must have switched an hour ago, but judging by how heavy his arm felt, it could have very well been two.

his curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, his shirt soaked through. he could feel a dull pain behind his eyes, and luke was worried that if he stopped to catch his breath, he would pass out. or, even worse, have to face the reality of the shitty news he’d gotten early that day.

“come sit with me,” you urged. “you’re exhausted, tiger.”

luke bristled at your nickname for him.

sure, luke loved that there was something only you called him, a secret kept between you in plain sight, but it was also a reminder that it was harder to hide behind the hero act when you were around.

everyone else at camp figured the nickname was a playful attempt at calling him strong and charismatic. the truth was that luke once told you that his favorite cereal as a kid was frosted flakes and that he would dream of playing sports as well as tony the tiger. for better or for worse, like most things, you wouldn’t let it go.

case in point: if it was anybody other than you trying to get him to take a break, luke could have just brushed them off with a charming smile and continued swordfighting until his arms fell off, but in the two years since meeting you, luke had never met anyone as stubborn and convincing. like him, it seemed you were willing to fight and shed blood to get your way. luke was never really in the mood to make you bleed, even when feeling like he could burn the entire world down, so he usually gave in to your demands.

as soon as he sat down next to you, you handed him an orange flavored energy drink — his favorite. anything other than water was hard to come by at camp without the enchanted goblets in the dining pavilion, or the right connection in the hermes cabin. he ran out of his stash the other day, but you must have noticed and gotten one of the stoll brothers to smuggle more in.

“thanks,” luke said, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through him when your fingers brushed together briefly.

the two of you looked out at the sword arena, and all the straw dummies that luke had destroyed. you wait for him to take three big gulps of his drink before speaking again.

“i guess chiron and your dad decided you weren’t ready for a quest.”

luke exhaled sharply. “how did you —”

“the only time you’d skip out on capture the flag is if something really shitty happened.” you looked down at luke’s clenched fists, and that seemed to be all the confirmation you needed. “you promised annabeth you'd be there, and it's not like you to let her down."

fuck. he had completely forgotten that tonight was annabeth's first time as team captain. this entire week, she had been prepping a winning strategy. it wasn’t like annabeth needed him to win, but luke was her big brother, and he should have been there. you were right — he had let her down.

the realization made luke’s day go from bad to worse.

"i told her you were helping a new camper with an emergency. she didn't believe it, but she adjusted her strategy and we still won.”

“well, thank the gods everything worked in the end,” luke grumbled.

“don’t thank the gods,” you quipped. “thank annabeth chase for her brilliant mind, and me for covering for your sorry ass.”

when luke didn’t indulge in your usual playful banter, you moved closer to him and brushed some curls away from his eyes. your skin warmed his forehead, and the small gesture made him feel better than he had all day.

“look, i’m not going to give you some bullshit inspirational speech about how the gods don’t get to define what a hero is, or how you don’t need a quest to prove that you’re worthy of being one. we’ve each been through that before, and i have a feeling this won’t be our last time, either.”

“then why are you here?” the question came out harsher than luke had intended it to.

“because she’s trying her best to hide it, but annabeth is really hurt that you didn’t show up for the game. i figured the least you could do is suck it up, come to the campfire, and make her those signature luke castellan s’mores. you could probably use one, too, since you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.”

you were right, again. luke was exhausted, he was furious, but most of all, he was starving.

later that night, luke sat next to annabeth and vowed to make her as many s’mores as she wanted. you’d gone to sit with the hephaestus kids, trying to convince beckendorf and nyssa to join your cabin’s post-campfire party at the beach, even though they had to work in the forges early the next morning.

when chiron made his weekly speech, congratulating the winners of capture the flag and thanking the gods for keeping everyone safe, you and luke caught each other’s gaze from across the fire. you rolled your eyes and luke bit back a smile as you turned back to beckendorf. he noticed your knees were practically touching. did you sit that close to everyone?

luke was looking at you for so long that the marshmallow he was roasting fell into the fire, despite annabeth’s warnings. she handed him another one.

"you should tell her how you feel," annabeth said. "stop being a coward."

whether it was the smell of burnt sugar, the heat of the fire, or annabeth’s comment, luke started to feel dizzy. he did his best to shake it off, asking annabeth for a play-by-play of her strategy earlier that night, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the thought of you.

(iii. you don't care if your clothes are stained with blood)

“i just….i can’t fucking believe you, luke.”

“i don’t get why you’re so upset — you’ve never cared about quests before.”

luke was hoping to break the news to you after capture the flag. unfortunately for him, word travels fast around camp.

annabeth had the two of you scouting the east side for the flag, while she and some other athena kids took the west. you hadn’t found anything so far, which meant that you’d spent the better part of an hour bickering over luke’s choice of companions for his quest. a choice that included charles beckendorf and chris rodriguez, and purposefully did not include you, much to your fury.

before you could continue arguing, luke heard the sound of footsteps approaching. he looked over to you, and you already had your shield and sword at the ready.

a few red defenders emerged from the trees. one charged at luke, but you stepped in so he could deal with the other two. one of his opponents went down fairly easily, but the other put up much more of a fight. metal clashed behind him as you kept fighting as well. you might not have been as skilled a swordfighter as luke, but he knew that you could hold your own, at least until he was finished with the person in front of him.

luke parried his opponent’s strike, causing them to take a step closer. he was preparing to disarm them, just as he heard you yelp and stumble to the ground. it only took a millisecond of his attention, but it gave his opponent the opportunity to elbow him in the face. luke felt a crack upon impact, and pain radiated from his nose; he powered through.

he had to finish this fight, and he had to do it fast. you needed him.

his ears were ringing as he finally knocked over his opponent, kicking away their sword and keeping his foot on their chest. luke turned around to see you having turned the tides, the blade of your sword dangerously close to your opponent’s neck.

you locked eyes with luke, and you both understood — it was time to go. the two of you ran through the forest, as far away as you could before having to stop and catch your breath.

luke removed his helmet to get some air, and dropped his weapons. you did the same. you looked at him, brows furrowed.

“your nose.”

luke licked his lips, tasting blood. the triumph of winning that last fight overshadowed the ache of his potentially broken nose. in fact, he liked the image of a ruthless warrior emerging from the glory and gore of battle, that even though he did not bleed ichor like a god, he still had power.

you, on the other hand, didn’t look impressed. instead, you stepped forward and offered the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away the blood.

“you don’t have to —”

“i know you think you’re a badass walking around all broken and bloody, but you shouldn’t deny your admirers your pretty face,” you teased.

it was no secret that luke had numerous admirers around camp, a fact you loved to tease him about. he was sure that you relished in how flustered that made him. all you had to call him was pretty boy, and luke could be reduced to a blushing mess.

it was pathetic how much power you had over him.

“besides, i wouldn’t have gotten out of that last fight if you hadn’t taught me that disarming technique earlier. i owe you. it’s what we do. we take care of each other, right?”

he couldn’t argue with that.

a few moments of silence passed as you cleaned his face. something shifted as you worked, the flirtatious grin fading away. when you pulled away, your sleeve was stained a dark crimson.

“just tell me honestly,” you finally murmured. “why don't you want me to join your quest?”

luke was genuinely taken aback by the softness of your voice, now devoid of its usual fire. you wouldn’t meet luke’s eyes, but being that close to you, he noticed they were slightly glazed over.

he had expected you to be angry at his decision. he expected you to yell and argue and try to change his mind. luke hadn’t expected you to be so hurt. so broken.

he hadn’t planned on it, but luke decided to tell you the truth then.

“look, karma, if you come with me, my heart wouldn’t fully be in the quest. i’d be so caught up in….well, you.”

a pause.

“is that a bad thing?”

“not usually, no.”

you smirked a little at that, and luke’s heart skipped a beat. it also made his decision even clearer.

“but i need to be focused for this. i need….” he let out a deep sigh. “i need to prove myself. this is my first real chance, and i can’t fuck it up.”

you met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, your signature spark of confidence returning.

“you won’t.”

you reached a hand up to play with his necklace. luke hadn’t noticed how close you’d gotten until your fingers started tracing over those four clay beads. it made his entire body burst into flames.

“i’ve been wanting to do something for a while. and, aphrodite save me, it might be really stupid, but —”

luke took a lucky guess as to where you were going, and crashed his lips against yours. aphrodite knows that he'd been wanting to do that for a while, too.

he often got drunk on the adrenaline of battle, the glory of winning, but nothing was quite like the rush of kissing you for the first time.

it was messy and urgent, both of you aware that, at any moment, you could be interrupted. your noses were bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. the metallic tang of blood lingered on luke’s tongue, but neither of you seemed to care. you even bit his lip slightly, as if you wanted more. armor sat heavy and cold between your chests, preventing you from getting closer. luke had never loathed the protective gear more.

he made up for it by lodging one hand underneath your jaw, and snaking the other beneath the celestial bronze, beneath the cotton of your shirt, admiring how your pulse quickened under his thumb when he grazed the soft skin of your stomach. you tangled your hands into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. he groaned and felt you smirk against his lips.

luke had kissed a few people before, sure, but never like this: like a knife to the gut, and if you pulled away, luke would surely bleed out and die.

it wouldn’t be a hero’s death, in the traditional sense, but at least he’d die happy.

how many heroes could claim that?

when luke ran out of air, feeling like his lungs were burning, he had to pull away.

you glanced down at luke’s kiss-bitten lips, then back to his eyes. luke flushed under the intensity of your gaze.

“just promise me something, tiger,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

“anything.”

“come back alive.”

luke leaned forward and placed another kiss on your lips, this one much gentler than before.

“i promise.”

(iv. you love like a scar that won't fade)

the nightmares were getting worse.

luke woke up in a cold sweat, taking gulps of air in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“luke.”

your whisper did little to quell the pit of dread growing in his stomach, but it did enough to bring him back down to reality.

he was at camp half-blood (fuck the gods of olympus), in the hermes cabin (fuck you, dad), in a bed next to yours (fuck, if he could tell you what — who — was going through his head, he would).

“i’m…i’m fine,” he murmured back, voice catching slightly on the lie.

like clockwork, you shifted from your bed to his, slipping under the covers. it didn’t matter that it was a hot summer night, and the minute your legs touched his, he could feel himself starting to overheat.

your thumb brushed over the thick edge of his scar, up his cheekbone to the corner of his eye. it had been a year, living with this reminder. a reminder that he had failed, just as much as his father and the olympians had failed him.

luke tried to pretend that he didn’t come back from his quest as a shell of who he once was. after all, it was meant to be his shining moment as a demigod, meant to gain him all the glory and father’s praise he once wished for.

what a fucking joke.

every morning, luke would crawl into a different skin. he welcomed new campers and taught sword-fighting. he laughed with chris and his other siblings and strategized with annabeth for capture the flag. he would be the easy-going, charming, skillful senior counselor who respected the gods and honored them in everything he did.

again: a fucking joke.

nights were different, though, with you so close to him, you who could always see right through him.

every night, luke was a fourteen-year old boy again, with so much rage and resentment he didn't know what to do with it.

of course, you were always you - a bleeding heart underneath layers of armor. you didn't care about fate, or the gods, or the titans. you cared about justice, you cared about what was right and fair.

most of all, you cared about luke.

“you were screaming,” you told him, voice barely cutting through the soft snores and sleeptalkings of your other cabinmates.

“sorry,” he managed. looking at you in the dull moonlight, luke noticed the deep shadows under your eyes.

“it’s fine. you just….you scared me, tiger.”

your hand still rested on his cheek, and for a second, luke hoped you would kiss him, but you didn’t. instead, you told him to try and get some sleep, and sank further into his bed before closing your eyes.

for the hundredth night in a row, luke hoped you couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest as you fell asleep next to him.

since coming back from his quest, luke didn’t have it in him to suggest being anything other than friends, and you didn’t push it. there had been a few....moments between you, sure, but nothing more.

luke thought you might have changed your mind, because who would want to be with a bitter, worthless, wannabe hero? then again, that voice haunting his dreams…. luke could change that.

but, at what cost?

(v. you protect people as ruthlessly as a starving dog)

luke could hear you talking to percy jackson outside. though he couldn’t quite determine what was being said, as much as he tried.

you entered the bathroom and instantly caught luke’s eyes in the mirror. you were wearing your faded pyjama shorts with cartoon crows, and a flannel shirt that luke had a sneaking suspicion might have been his. you smiled at him before setting up at the counter, one sink between you.

“what was that about?” luke asked after spitting out a mouthful of minty toothpaste.

“oh, nothing.” you were searching through your toiletry bag for something, and seemed to come up short. “hey, do you have any extra dental floss?”

luke threw some over to you. as you effortlessly caught it, he noticed your knuckles, bruised and bloodied.

“what happened?”

you finished flossing and briefly examined your hands before pulling out your toothbrush.

“it’s not a big deal,” you assured. “some ares kids were picking on percy, and then they started pushing him around, like, really pushing him around, so….”

“....you decided to send them to the infirmary.”

you squeezed some toothpaste on your brush before continuing. “i don’t need you to lecture me about how i shouldn’t be fighting with other campers because i’ve been here longer and i should be a good role model. you know what a good role model does? not let kids beat up other kids and think the worst punishment they’ll get is no dessert for a week.”

luke watched carefully as you jammed the toothbrush in your mouth and brushed with such force, he was worried your teeth might dislodge. he knew that you would shed blood for someone you loved, and that you didn’t particularly care if you had to break rules in doing so, because you believed that what was written was not necessarily what was right.

in fact, luke loved that about you.

no, it wasn’t the fighting that luke cared about — it was who you were fighting for.

percy was a good kid, he really was. luke just didn’t want you getting attached.

“i wasn’t going to lecture you. i’m guessing chiron already did?”

you nodded and spat out what looked like a combination of toothpaste and blood. you rinsed your mouth until the water lost its pinkish hue. once you were done, luke continued his train of thought.

“i just didn’t realize you cared so much about him.”

“about percy?”

luke could tell that he didn’t have your full attention. you were packing your stuff back up, accidentally tossing luke’s dental floss into your bag, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

“yeah. the kid’s only been at camp for three days, and you’re already acting like his guard dog.”

you finally turned to luke and glared at him.

“maybe. but percy’s sweet and he doesn’t seem like the type to put up with bullshit. he’s been through a lot, and annabeth seems to like him, too. as far as i’m concerned, percy’s one of us, and i’m not going to let anyone push him around.”

luke raised an eyebrow at you. “he’s sweet?”

“yeah. like, just now, he gave me some blue raspberry jelly beans as a thank you. said his mom used to work at a candy store. he also wanted me to apologize to you for him. he feels bad about beating you in sword-fighting earlier.”

you scoffed, like you resented luke for having to apologize to him on percy’s behalf. you definitely did not appreciate that guard dog comment. luke clenched his jaw, seething over what you had just said.

satisfied with his reaction, you gave luke that nauseating smile of yours, tilted your head towards the exit. a truce, because you never liked to fight with luke for too long, and a order, because you knew luke would always follow.

the two of you began walking back to your cabin in the warm mid-june air.

“i wouldn’t say he beat me,” luke huffed. “it was beginner’s luck.”

“sure, tiger. it was beginner’s luck that disarmed the best swordsman we’ve had in the last 300 years.”

you nudged luke’s shoulder with yours, but he recoiled from your touch.

“are you trying to make me feel worse?” luke tried his best to avoid snapping at you, keeping his tone measured.

“i’m just saying that maybe the kid has natural talent and that doesn’t make you any less talented. there’s no need to get jealous.”

luke resisted the urge to growl at your suggestion.

to be clear, he was not jealous. it’s just that luke had spent years of blood, sweat, and tears getting to where he was then, and percy jackson had just gotten to camp.

and, to be even more clear, luke was not jealous of how you were already defending percy with your whole body and your whole heart, the way you did for him.

by then, you reached the front of the hermes cabin. luke could already hear the commotion of what he would need to deal with as soon as he walked in. the burden of being head counselor, one he approached with an elastic smile that could snap at any moment.

you tugged on luke’s sleeve before he could open the door.

“hey. are we okay?”

luke looked down at your fingers grasping the fabric of a sweatshirt he was just realizing was yours. your nails were painted a dark red, now chipped after a week of wear. you had begged luke to paint his nails then, and once again, he gave in. he even started to like the purple you had chosen just for him, so deep it was almost black. the same color you were wearing the first time you and luke met.

he smiled at the memory — a real smile, no plastic — and then smiled back up at you.

“we’re fine, karma.” and he moved to enter the cabin. luke could hear the threat of an argument bubbling up, what sounded like a petty one over a prank gone wrong.

“wait.” you tugged at his (your) sweatshirt once more. “there’s something i wanted to talk to you about, about tomorrow night—”

“annabeth called a meeting during free time.”

“yeah, i know, it’s just —”

“she’ll run through strategy for capture the flag then.”

“one of the aphrodite senior campers asked me to the campfire,” you blurted it out, and luke decided to ignore the sound of a fight breaking out from behind the wooden door.

what in the name of hades were you talking about?

“they asked you out? like…like a….” luke didn’t even want to speak the word, scared it would make it real.

“a date,” you said casually, as if that one word didn’t rip luke’s heart in a million pieces. “i said yes.” an admission that took all those pieces and set them on fire.

sure, in the seven years since you and luke met, you’d each talked about boys, about girls, about dating and kissing them and going further. but there was something about this one that felt different. something about the way you told him.

“but, listen, i wanted to let you know it’s not —”

“good for you,” was all luke said through gritted teeth before someone started calling his name again, louder and more urgently, and he had to duck inside.

(vi. you taste like burning cherries and righteous anger)

your team had won capture the flag, of course. the biggest news of the evening, though: percy jackson was the son of the sea god.

he was a forbidden child, the hero of the great prophecy.

everything was falling into place.

all luke should be thinking about is kronos’ plan, and his role in it, and how a world without the gods of olympus was that much more in reach.

unfortunately, for the time being, he was so consumed by you.

you, from across the campfire, sporting cutoff denim shorts and fresh wounds from the game earlier. you, who had wrapped your knuckles in gauze, concealing their bruising, fixed the chips in your nail polish and stacked rings on your fingers. (for the record: luke had gifted you the one on your left thumb.) you, with dark lips that whispered too closely and laughed too loudly with a child of aphrodite— jordan li.

you hadn’t so much as looked at luke since congratulating each other on another win. when chiron announced his weekly gratitude to the gods at the start of that night’s campfire, you didn’t punctuate your resentment with your usual eye-roll or biting remark. you were too busy giggling at something jordan said.

luke wanted to be the one to whisper jokes in your ear. he wanted to be the one you left lipstick stains on later, along his jaw and down his neck. he wanted to be the one who kissed the blade mark on your shoulder and the bruises on your knuckles.

and yet, hours passed and it seemed that the thought of luke had never so much as crossed your mind. he found himself at an after hours party with a few senior campers on the beach. a lethal recipe: a poorly crafted bonfire, some contraband drinks and you in jordan li’s lap, playing with their hair and pretending luke castellan did not exist.

meanwhile, luke had katie gardner’s full attention. she was talking to him about the strawberry season, potentially leaning a bit too close into luke’s personal space, definitely flirting with him.

luke could have done a lot worse than the head counselor of the demeter cabin, who always smelled like fresh lavender, whose eyes were the bright green of spring grass and whose lips tasted like golden honey.

the problem was that luke only wanted you, and his eyes kept sliding over to where you were kissing jordan’s cheek, and he accidentally called the girl he was kissing by your name, which did not make her happy.

katie threw her drink in his face, told him to wake the fuck up, and walked away.

a chorus of gasps and chuckles erupted as luke stood there, diet coke and vodka seeping into his shirt. the commotion seemed to capture your attention, because you suddenly appeared next to luke, an empty bottle of cherry soda in your hand.

“rough night, tiger?” your voice, that nickname, made luke sick, his face twisting into a frown. you don’t seem to notice or care. instead, you switched your bottle with luke’s and took a sip.

“looks like you were having a pretty good time,” luke practically sneered. “where’s your date?”

“they went to bed.” you swallowed a mouthful of beer, grimacing at its bitterness. “gods, this is terrible. you and i should go on the drink run next time — we have better taste.”

“so, are you and jordan like a thing now?”

you gave luke a smile he didn’t quite understand, but made his stomach churn in ways only you could. “would that be a problem?”

“of course not.” he answered way too quickly for that to be true.

“let’s get out of here,” you suggested. “i think katie is about this close to strangling you with a tree branch.”

luke glanced over your shoulder to where green eyes glared back at him.

nowhere could luke find it in him to care. he wasn’t even sorry. he just shrugged, took the bottle back from you, took his first sip all night. luke almost gagged (because of course you were right, and the stoll brothers had better fake ids than they had taste) but he suppressed it.

“no. i’m good.”

biggest lie he ever said. like there wasn’t anger caught in his throat and jealousy swelling between his ribs.

“go find jordan,” he taunted. “kiss them, show them a good time! isn’t that the reason why you got all pretty?”

you narrowed your eyes at him carefully. your nostrils were slightly flared, and luke took a bit of pride in being able to rile you up.

“look, we haven’t really talked lately, and i think we should.”

“go find jordan,” he mocked once more. “almost all the aphrodite kids are here, and i’m sure you can be quiet enough to sneak into their cabin and if you want a quick fu—”

“luke.” you clipped his name, obviously getting to the limit of your patience with him. “if you want to stay here all night and be an asshole, you’re welcome to. you should know, though, that your happy-go-lucky hero mask is starting to crack and i don’t know if you could deal with the fallout from it shattering completely.”

you leaned in close and whispered that last part, very aware of the chattering that stopped and the eyes that watched the pair of you anxiously. luke was usually good at hiding that part of himself who wanted to burn the world down.

in ways you didn’t realize, you were right: he couldn’t risk revealing it, not now.

not yet.

“do whatever you want, castellan,” you spat out his last name, the combination of letters foreign in your mouth.“i’m leaving.”

luke should be proud of himself. he waited a whole two seconds before following you like a stray dog.

luke didn’t know if he’d ever felt you that enraged by him, and it horrified him. it also made him hungry for more.

“i’m not sure that jordan would want the two of us alone together at night,” he shouted after you, words echoing into the starless sky.

“gods, enough about jordan!” luke practically ran into you with how fast you turned around to confront him. “i was helping them with that stupid aphrodite tradition!”

“you….” luke faltered, all the snark leaving his body. “what?”

luke remembered silena beauregard once explaining the rite of passage to him: to prove themselves, a child of aphrodite had to make someone fall in love with them, and then break their heart.

“why…why would you agree to do that?”

you had reached the dining area by then, and you sat on one of the steps leading to the pavilion. luke stayed a few feet away, looking at you cautiously.

“jordan and i are already friends, and they figured a fake relationship would be the way to avoid anyone from actually getting hurt in the process.”

“you seemed so…so into it, though,” luke stammered, the memory of you in jordan’s lap, laughter bubbling from your lips, still fresh.

“it’s called acting, dumbass.” the camp didn’t rely on electricity, but there were enough torches around that luke could see you roll your eyes. “anyways, i was trying to give you a heads-up last night, but you wouldn’t listen.” you took a deep breath. “and, honestly, i didn’t push it because….i figured i should test a hypothesis.”

a hypothesis? you’d known annabeth for too long.

“what hypothesis?”

you hesitated.

“it doesn’t matter. fuck, this was stupid,” you muttered, and without another word, stormed through the dining pavilion, a short cut to the hermes cabin. your footsteps fell heavy against the marble, and luke’s not far behind.

“what hypothesis?” he asked again.

nothing but rushed footsteps.

“what hypothesis?” luke finally yelled.

third time was the charm, because you stopped in your tracks and faced luke once again. a fire burned in the bronze brazier, where campers were forced to offer up portions of your food to the gods at every meal. its roaring seemed to captivate you, and the flames danced across your face, illuminating all your curves and edges.

“i’m angry at the gods,” you stated.

this caught luke off guard. from the day the two of you met, luke knew you shared that feeling. you’d gotten quieter with your rage as you’d gotten older. luke supposed he got better at hiding it himself, as well.

“i’m angry at the gods for letting bad shit happen even if they can stop it, and for building this world in the fucked up way they did. i’m angry at your dad for the way he’s treated you, but — you, luke castellan.” you finally met luke’s eyes with a gaze so sharp, luke almost felt himself bleed. “i’m also angry at you, and not just for your bullshit tonight.”

your admission felt like a punch to the stomach, and luke was left with no air to breathe.

did you know?

“you haven’t been the same since your quest,” you continued, words slow and deliberate, the way you spoke when you were worried your voice would shake. “and i’ve come to terms with that in the past few years, but you….you’ve never tried to ice me out before. you’ve been acting distant since december, and it’s been driving me insane. do you realize how much i miss my best …..” you swallowed the word friend. “how much i miss you?”

luke hesitated, because what could he say? i know i’ve been distant, but i’ve been busy trying to start a war between the gods. sorry babe!

would you hate him, if you knew?

you had to have known that, despite the distance, luke missed you. for tartarus sake, in the last two days, he’d driven himself mad at you calling a fourteen year old boy sweet, and he was about to combust at the image of you dating someone else, with little care as to the collateral damage.

"you can't just avoid me, makeout with katie fucking gardner, and then….” you trailed off, hiding your face in your hands. whether it was to hide embarrassment or tears, luke wasn’t sure.

a smirk spread across luke’s face at the revelation that he hadn’t been the only one jealous at the bonfire that night. it lit luke up with the confidence he needed to not completely fall to his knees in front of you, beg for your forgiveness for everything he’s done.

“why do you care if i make out with katie fucking gardner?”

as he waited for a response, luke walked towards you until your back hit one of the marble columns.

“why do you care if i’m with jordan fucking li?” you clenched your jaw and looked right through luke. a clear indication that you wanted him to break down first; it wouldn’t be you who yielded this fight.

“because i want to be the one you’re with.” at that point, luke was so close to you that he swore he could hear your heartbeat. he reached out and played with the hem of your shorts. “why do you care if i make out with katie gardner?”

“because.” you drew in a sharp breath when luke’s fingers brushed underneath the denim, across the warm skin of your thigh. you closed your eyes. “don’t make me say it, tiger.”

the desperation in your voice made luke want to do unholy things with you, to you. luke knew you didn’t think of him as a saint, and you never expected him to be one. the reality was that you weren’t much better, either. what was essentially an altar to the gods burned bright next to you, but it seemed neither of you had ever cared less about it than in that moment.

luke would watch olympus fall. he would dethrone the gods and watch their glass castle shatter and find glory in a new world. in the grand scheme of things, he was willing to lose this battle.

in fact, he would have rather betrayed the titan lord himself than waste another second not kissing your lips.

so, he kissed you, and you kissed him back with such force, such hunger, it was ungodly.

no, you certainly weren’t a saint — but you were divine, in the most brutal, intoxicating way. in the way you shuddered when luke lodged a leg between your thighs; in the way you threaded your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans to bring him closer; in the way the metal of your rings burned through the skin of his hip, right to the bone, which made him shudder, and you smile triumphantly against his jaw.

the more he tasted your smirk flavored by cherry soda and the ashes of nearby flames, the more he felt your feral teeth against his neck and your wicked nails digging into his shoulders, the more you tugged on his curls, the more luke thought: maybe.

maybe you would give into your seething resentment, live up to those eye-rolls and snarky comments that got you in trouble with chiron, on the edge of hot water with the gods. maybe you would join the titan army. maybe, just maybe, this time, you would follow luke.

and yet — maybe wasn’t enough if it meant he could lose this. luke wouldn’t risk it, not until he kissed every battle scar and bruise on your body, and you did the same to his.

“wait.”

it was the last thing luke wanted to do, but he complied. he took the opportunity to appreciate the chaos he created: your shirt in disarray, your lipstick a mess, your chest heaving and desperate to catch a breath.

“i promised jordan that we’d keep up our charade for a week, two at the most. do you think we could keep this…” you tightened your fist around the fabric of his shirt. “a secret until then?”

luke responded by pressing his lips to yours once more, because there were definitely worse secrets to keep.

(vii. you wouldn’t hesitate to make him bleed)

luke had just left percy jackson to die.

he should be leaving camp, now, but he needed to see you one last time.

the universe works in mysterious ways, because you were out on a run through the forest, and you crossed paths before he even had time to wonder where you were.

“hey, tiger.” you smiled as if this was a regular afternoon. the two of you would teach your afternoon activities, sneak away during dinner so luke could kiss you in that spot that made you gasp. “wanna join me? i was just wrapping up, but i could be convinced to go longer.”

for a second, he was tempted to. very tempted.

“i don’t have much time.”

you seemed to notice luke’s sullen mood and you dropped your playful demeanor.

luke explained: the messages from kronos in his dreams, him stealing the lightning bolt and helm of darkness to start a war between the gods and framing percy. the plan to destroy olympus that luke had pledged his life to.

percy was surprised at what luke had done, and luke could imagine that the rest of camp would be, too. luke was the golden boy of camp half-blood, everyone’s big brother.

you, on the other hand, didn’t express any sense of shock.

“luke.” you said his name like you weren’t quite sure it was poison. “i’m going to give you five seconds to tell me that you’re joking.”

five seconds of silence passed. you took a few steps back from luke.

“i….i should have told you sooner.”

“yeah,” you scoffed. “you should have. but, you didn’t. did it feel good, having the titan king whispering sweet nothings in your ear? all the lies about how this war is the only way to get the glory you so desperately want? it’s fucking delusional.”

“it’s not delusional—”

“yes, it is!” you glared at him. “you’re on the wrong side of a war you made the mistake of starting.”

luke straightened his posture, thinking about how hypocritical you were being.

“isn’t this what you’re all about? revenge, karma. your mom will probably join us, too. don’t you want to see the gods finally get what they deserve?”

“not like this. i can’t believe how desperate you are, to believe that kronos is going to make everything right. it’s pathetic,” you spat. “i’m not saying the gods don’t deserve to be taken down a notch. their fucking obsession with power and glory….it’s sick and twisted, but i don’t think your titan king is any better. i don’t think you are any better.”

“it’s time that the gods fall. this is the only way, even if it isn’t perfect,” luke countered. his voice was firmer now as he absorbed your anger. your mother was the goddess of revenge, but you clearly didn't understand the sacrifices, pain, and blood that was required to make the world a better place.

luke just needed to convince you.

“we’ve talked about this for years,” he continued. “nothing is balanced! there’s no justice here, for anyone. we can build a better world where we don’t have to burn our scraps and throw ourselves at monsters to get attention. we can fight together like we always have. y/n, i love—”

“don’t,” you snapped. “don’t you fucking dare. you should have died on your quest.” your voice laced with venom. one hand gripping the knife you always kept on your belt. “that dragon should have fucking sliced through you and saved us all the trouble.”

something pricked in the back of his throat, down to his stomach.

“you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you promised. “at least you would have died with all of us thinking you’re a hero instead of the traitor you really are.”

you grabbed your knife, took a fighting stance.

“i’m not going to fight you,” was all luke could say. he noticed your hand tremble, and you tightened the grip on your knife to prevent emotion from slipping through your invisible armor.

in that moment, you have could slice through luke, and it would hurt less than everything you just said, less than the murderous look you were giving him, like he was just another monster you wouldn’t think twice about sending to tartarus.

luke didn’t even have a chance to unsheathe his sword before you charged at him, but he quickly had you pinned to the ground, the tip of your own knife pointed at you. he hesitated. the blade pressed harder against your cheek than he intended, enough to break the skin and let a few droplets of dark crimson escape.

“please come with me,” he pleaded. you didn’t answer, but you did seem surprised by the softness of his voice.

a few moments passed, the celestial bronze still between you. luke waited for you to see his way, to yield to his proposal.

you didn’t. instead, you took advantage of the situation. you wrapped your leg around his and flipped your position. in the process, you regained possession of your knife. without the hesitation that held luke back, you sliced through his cheek, deep. luke bit his lip to suppress a groan, tasting blood. your gaze set his whole body on fire as he waited for your next move. that was when you glanced down at his camp necklace, and the new clay bead added to commemorate this summer.

a turquoise trident.

“percy told me he was on his way to see you,” you realized. “what did you do?”

luke didn’t answer. he knew then that a choice ran through your head.

and it stung, just a little, watching you sprint away through the trees in a last ditch effort to save percy’s life.

there was a small, pathetic part of luke that wanted you to choose him, even if it meant you would have plunged the knife into his chest.

#this is my baby fr #really feeling the tragic hero vibe down to my core #will prob do a part 2 from reader's POV!#ofc inspired by get him back! bc nemesis!reader....#percy jackson #pjo fanfic #pjo series #luke castellan #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #luke castellan angst #luke castellan imagine #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan smut #saf writes #Spotify

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animasolaoriginal · 2 months

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I n f a t u a t e d ♦️THREE

CHAPTER ONE◾TWO THREE FOUR◾FIVE SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN ELEVEN

He finds out the girl he picked up on a whim is the perfect candidate. So innocent, so submissive already, with just the right amount of Daddy issues. But she still has a lot to learn, and he's determined to teach her everything.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Sex toys. Fingering. Cunnilingus. Orgasm denial. Oral sex/deepthroating. Anal play. Creampies. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 4.9k

TWO 🟥 THREE 🟥 FOUR

He's surprised how quickly she adjusted to her new surroundings, to the things he's asked of her, forced on her. Maybe she's still feeling the after-effects of the drug he's given her last night, maybe she doesn't understand the situation just yet, maybe she's simply the perfect candidate for this. To stay here, for him. She's barely putting up any fight, only seems embarrassed most of the time, but the way she's sucked him off has shown him how eager she really is.

Even though she still has a long way to go. Too fucking innocent.

She's that little ball of hair and limbs on his lap, curled up, melting into him, small hands that have been around his cock now gripping his shirt. Feet tucked under his thigh, deep little breaths against his chest. It's been only a few hours, and she's already so submissive. He's almost disappointed he didn't get to break her first. But maybe her defiance is yet to come. He's certainly looking forward to it.

His phone chimes on the coffee table, and he throws a quick look at the display. The courier is here. Good. Without a word, he stands, picking her up effortlessly. She hums against him, leans into him as he carries her into the bedroom. When he puts her down on the bed, leaning over her for a moment, he meets her hooded eyes. So pliant, so innocent. He can't help but lean down further to press his lips to hers.

She melts into the mattress as he pushes her deeper, putting his weight on her, elbows on either side of her shoulders as he gives himself a few minutes of a bit more much-needed pleasure before he has to leave her. She's hesitant at first, but as soon as he slips his tongue between her lips, her own jumps into action. A groan escapes him as she kisses him back with more and more confidence. His fingers dig into her hair, their tongues wrestling, his cock stirs back to life against the fabric of his pants.

He leans back abruptly, breathing a little harder, the girl beneath him panting as well, her lips parted and red, glistening. Her eyes on him. “I gotta take care of something,” he tells her quietly. She only blinks. “Be a good girl and wait here for me, okay?” The way her pupils dilate when he calls her that makes his stomach tense up. He's noticed it before, how she reacts to his praise. It's an intoxicating sight.

He crawls off her and stands, looking down at her small frame. White lace was a good choice, accents her innocence perfectly. Those little embroidered flowers barely cover anything, but it's still enough fabric to keep it interesting. She's beautiful, the way she lies in front of him, chest rising and falling, that flutter to her stomach, the little twitch to her thighs as she presses them together and tries to hide her sex. He raises an eyebrow at that.

“While I'm gone,” he says, a smirk growing on his lips, “I have a little task for you.”

He steps towards the nightstand and pulls open the first drawer, randomly picks some of its contents and throws them onto the bed next to her. Her eyes widen when she follows the gesture and stares at the colorful toys. He picks up one of the smaller dildos and braces himself on one arm as he leans over her.

“I want you to be very wet when I come back,” he whispers, gently taking her hand and placing the object onto her small palm. “Understood?”

She still looks at him in shock, and he can already tell she's never used any of the things he's presented her with. Another challenge, another thing he's willing to change. He leans back and looks down at her, head cocked to the side. His eyes narrow slightly when she doesn't reply.

“Understood?” he repeats a little harsher.

A tiny gasp escapes her and she sits up, nodding frantically. “Yes, sir.”

His hand finds her cheek, a gentle caress, thumb running over her bottom lip. He watches her intently. “Good girl.” The shiver that runs through her amuses him immensely. Patting her cheek, he then turns away and leaves her to her own devices.

Returning to his phone, he sends a message to the courier, and minutes later there's a chime on the door. His men are good, and fast, and when he looks through the things in the box that was brought up to his place, he nods in contentment. The things she left in the club, a jacket, a phone, case stuffed with some money, some keys and her ID. He's surprised that she's actually 19, when she looks quite a bit younger. Not that it really matters. His eyes scan her name, memorizing it. Fits her.

There's a folder tucked into the side, all the information they could gather on her, and the more he reads, the wider his smile gets. She is perfect, a random pick, an instinct, and it has still been the best choice. Alone in the big city. He checks her phone, swipes through pictures and messages. There's only one new message, someone congratulating her. Not many social contacts, no Mom or Dad or other relatives. Does explain a few things though. The girl definitely lacked the presence of a proper authority figure in her life, or at least someone who could give her the attention she needs, someone to hug her even, guide her through life, tell her what's right or wrong. No wonder she's so overwhelmed with his advances, yet strangely compliant at the same time.

Daddy issues.

What a perfect little thing that found her way into his clutches. He turns the phone off and puts it back into the box, then locks it securely in the safe in his office, before he focuses on the bag that came with the delivery. Clothes he ordered for her, more underwear mostly, some dresses, shoes. He doesn't plan to take her out much, not yet, so she won't need too many clothes anyway. They're just an illusion of safety for now, something she feels more comfortable in, before he'll take that away as well.

Grabbing the bag, he returns to the bedroom – and freezes. The bed is empty, except for the array of sex toys on the blanket. Untouched, unmoved. And the girl is gone. Something hot rises inside him, his hand tightens around the straps of the bag. He checks the bathroom, also empty. When he opens the door to his walk-in closet, he hears a soft little gasp, before his eyes move down to the far back where she's curled up on her side, wide eyes staring at him from under her lashes.

Like a beaten animal – and he hasn't even done anything to her yet. Not really, anyway.

He puts the bag down on a shelf and approaches her slowly. The dildo he gave her lies in front of her, just as untouched as the rest. She curls up even more, a little ball of hair and limbs, white lace in stark contrast to the dark rug she's lying on. He crouches down, hands resting on his knees as he watches her.

“What are you doing here, baby?” he asks quietly. “Are you hiding from me?”

She sniffles, shakes her head. “No,” she mumbles, wide eyes following his every move. Why is she so skittish all of a sudden? The drugs probably wore off. Poor thing.

He doesn't care. His hand reaches out and grabs her elbow, pulls her closer. A little yelp escapes her. He sits down on the floor and pulls her between his legs, she struggles against him but his fingers close around her arm, squeezing harder than he intended. She winces, a deep shudder rushing through her small body when he drapes her legs over his thigh, making her lean against him. One arm securely around her, holding her with enough authority that she stops squirming, he raises the other hand and grabs her chin, makes her look at him.

“What happened?” he asks, looking at her, scanning her face, fear and shock evident on it.

She averts her eyes, chewing on her lip. He squeezes her chin.

“Look at me.”

She does, with a soft little whine, blinking rapidly, eyes glistening as she meets his gaze. “M'sorry...” she mumbles.

“For what?” His voice is stern, and she frowns at his tone.

“For... for not... doing... what you told me...” she whispers, the first tear falling from her lashes. “I... I couldn't...”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Her cheeks are bright red by now, her eyes moving over his face in frantic little flutters. “Felt... wrong...”

He watches her, letting go of her chin to move his hand straight between her legs. She flinches and yelps when his fingertips brush against her panties. The fabric is a little damp, warm against his touch. He doesn't hesitate and slips a finger under the hem, testing the waters. She turns her head away, whining softly as her blush spreads over her shoulders. “Do you need my help?” he whispers.

She only stiffens in his hold as his finger glides along her slit. Warm, wetter than he expected. He doesn't know why she was so stressed about this task or thinking she failed him. She's perfectly responsive. His lips brush against her temple.

“Tell me you need me to help you...” he breathes against her.

Her thighs twitch. “I... I need you to... to help me...” she mumbles out, burying her face in his chest in a little gesture of embarrassment. So fucking cute.

“Good girl,” he hums and kisses her forehead while his finger slips between her folds, gathers her slick and promptly dips into her entrance.

She flinches, but keeps quiet, leaning into him as he nudges her legs apart with his thumb. His finger slips in and out of her, her tight walls gripping him in a way that makes his cock throb. Her wetness gathers around him, quiet squelching sounds filling his ear. She lets out little noises of discomfort, barely-there whines, almost-sobs but in a way that doesn't seem too distressed. She's slowly adjusting, relaxing in his hold, her breaths deeper.

His thumb finds her clit, and when he pushes gently on it, she wails a little louder, her legs trembling, her small hands gripping the front of his shirt as she melts into him more. He keeps drawing tight circles around her nub, his digit pushing deep, in and out, faster, her wetness runs over his hand. The moment she becomes really still, a sharp inhale cutting through the air, he stops, pulls away, and she looks up with her lips parted, almost pouty, eyebrows furrowed, disappointed.

He smirks at her and brings his wet finger to her lips. She doesn't fight it when he slips it into her mouth, rubs it over her tongue and along her gums, pushes deeper. She freezes again, stares at him, but then she closes her lips around his finger and sucks, her tongue flicking around it, licking up her own juices. He pulls it out with a wet pop and leans down, capturing her mouth for a quick, deep kiss, sucking on her tongue, tasting her. She melts into him, clinging to him, but as soon as she starts to relax again, he lets go, leans back, leans around her to grab the dildo still lying behind her on the floor.

“Here,” he says and puts the small pink object into her hand. “If you want to finish it, do it with this.”

She stares at him, eyes wide, fingers curling around the toy, her face flushed. And then she shakes her head, catching him off guard.

“No?” he whispers, raising his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

Her breaths are loud through her nose as she holds his gaze, not saying anything.

He narrows his eyes. His first instinct is to grab the toy and shove it deep into her tight pussy himself, but he refrains, pushes her off his lap and stands, then grabs her wrist and drags her out of the closet. She stumbles after him and yelps when he throws her onto the bed.

Scrambling to her knees, her lips parted and trembling, she stares at him with her eyes wide in shock. He ignores her for now and walks to the bedside table, rummaging through the drawer until he retrieves a little teardrop shaped object, bright pink as well, smooth silicone with a little antenna.

A high-pitched squeal escapes her as he grabs her and pushes her onto her stomach, one large hand on her lower back, holding her down as she starts to squirm. “Stay still or this'll be more uncomfortable than it should be,” he tells her through gritted teeth. She stiffens, her breaths loud and frantic as she white-knuckles the sheets.

He moves the toy between her ass cheeks, pleased to see the butt plug is still in place. Nudging it slightly, he makes her wince. Pushing her legs apart a bit more with his knee, he slides her underwear aside, grabs her thigh to steady her and lets the small vibrator glide between her slick folds, and it's only a little push of his thumb before it slips into her, swallowed up by the tense muscles of her pussy. She lets out a strained whine. He wipes his palm over her mound gently, then tugs on the fat string until he finds the thicker bit at the end. The button clicks audibly when he presses it, and she gasps when the first vibrations shake her body. It's low, but still definitely overwhelming for her.

He puts her thong back in place and grabs her elbow, dragging her off the bed. Her legs are trembling, the low hum between her twitching thighs barely audible, but he hears it, sees her reaction to it, feels his blood pumping into his cock, the throbbing almost painful, and he wonders why he's taking his time with her. He could have had her last night, this morning, any time he wanted, fucked her hard and mercilessly, any hole he desired, and yet he waits, eases her into it, with a patience (or restraint) that surprises himself.

Sighing loudly, he grabs her hand and leads her out of the bedroom, she follows him on shaking limbs, too stunned to protest now. They reach the open kitchen, and he grabs her waist and sets her on the island, hears the faint clanging noise when the base of her plug hits the marble top. Spreading her legs, he steps between them, braces one arm on either side of her, stares down at her darkly.

Her eyes are wide, glistening, shock and uncertainty on her face, but there's also a deep blush and a tightness to her lips as she fights the sensations pulsing through her small body. Her hands fidget between her legs, a nervous little gesture. He rips them away, tells her to sit on them. She does with a bit of hesitation as she watches him with bated breath. He leans in, lets his breath fan over her cheek, then kisses the corner of her mouth, and there's a jerk in her neck as she turns her head, trying to meet his lips.

He pulls away before that, exhaling through his nose. His hands move over her legs, thumbs brushing along her inner thighs until he pushes them against the damp fabric of her underwear. Her wetness seeps past it already, staining the white satin bit, and he licks his lips at the sight. His restraint is slipping, he can't help it, he can smell her arousal, and it's driving him insane.

In one swift motion he grabs her hip, pulls her to the edge and leans down to press his mouth to her inner thigh, quickly kissing up the soft skin to where the little pink antenna pokes out of her. His free hand tugs at it, then he drags her panties aside and closes his lips around her folds. She yelps softly, body jerking against him. His fingers dig into her flesh, hold her in place as he laps up along her slit, gathers her sweet wetness on his tongue, drinks her up like a man parched.

She whimpers when he sucks on her clit, teeth grazing her soft, sensitive skin while he fumbles with the toy and presses the button a few more times, feeling the vibrations increasing, her hips jerking, thighs pressing against his head. Her noises are getting louder, helpless whines and mewls as she squirms on the counter, hands still squished under her legs while he continues to eat her out with a passion that he hasn't felt in ages.

Holding her with one hand, he tries to counteract her uncontrollable twitches, while his other hand rubs over her thigh before his index finger pokes at her entrance, following the toy inside. It's thrumming hard against her tense muscles, and he pushes it around a little with his finger before he finds the right spot, and that's when she really wails, body spasming against him, the heels of her feet thudding loudly into the cabinet as she tries to ground herself somehow.

He holds the toy pressed to her g-spot, still sucking on her clit, eyes moving up to watch her lose it in front of him. She's arching her back, head tilted upwards, chest pushed out, arms trembling before she can't keep her composure any longer and pulls her hands from under her legs and grabs his hair, two sets of small fingers with an iron grip that surprises him. Either to push him away or hold him right there, he isn't sure. Whatever the case, he lets her, gives her that one moment of control.

Her walls tighten around the toy and his finger, rhythmic clenching, her orgasm is so close, she's right on the edge, and it's that moment that he hooks his finger around the toy and pulls it out, leaning back, slipping from her suddenly limp fingers, and leaves her throbbing and panting, watches her deflate as her orgasm slips away again. A whine escapes her, and she falls backwards onto the counter, body convulsing without release, hiding her flushed face behind her shaking hands.

He straightens himself, licks his lips and then his finger, puts the vibrating toy on the counter before he turns it off. She's sobbing now, overwhelmed and left hanging. Poor thing. But it's not over yet.

Hooking his hands under her arms, he hoists her off the counter and pushes her down on her knees in front of him. She's too surprised to react, slowly lowers her hands and looks up at him, tears streaming down her red cheeks. Without a word or command, he unbuckles his belt and opens his pants, then snaps his fingers at her. Despite her trembling state, she follows the order instantly, automatically, that inborn desire to please stirring within her, when her small hands move up to push his pants and underwear down enough to free his erection.

The initial touch is almost enough to push him to the edge and over, but he braces himself, puts his hands on his hips and watches her as she closes her fingers around his length, slowly stroking up and down like he's shown her. Her eyes stay on him, watching him closely, and he tilts his head, pressing his lips into a thin line, a slight furrow between his eyebrows. He sees her swallowing, and barely a second later, her lips brush against his hot skin, the contact enough to coax a little groan out of him.

He watches her closely as she moves her lips up and down his shaft, tongue licking along his bulging veins, circling his tip, flicking over his slit, before she opens her mouth and takes him deeper. She's a little hesitant, careful, one hand still on his girth, the other braced against his thigh as she slowly bobs her head, lips closed around his tip, cheeks hollowed, the little suction really tempting his self-control. He wants her to find her own pace, get better on her own, learn to pleasure him properly, but he also really wants to fuck her throat and make her choke on his cock. The struggle is real.

His hands move to her head, a gentle little caress, fingers sliding through her hair, slowly nudging her closer, she shifts on her knees, the hand on his thigh pulling her into him. Her eyes are closed now, and he can see tears forming under her lashes as she keeps moving her head back and forth, the hand that's tight around his girth keeping her from taking him deeper. He feels her warm mouth, that little tongue flicking around his tip, hot and wet, sucking softly, almost meditatively, and he can't help it, he bucks his hips slightly against her, his cockhead poking into her cheek when she turns her head with a little muffled whine.

One of his hands moves down to grab her chin, holding her in place, head slightly tilted, as he repeats the same motion, pushing into her mouth, watching her cheek bulge. He hasn't noticed it before, but she's a natural at keeping her teeth out of the way, her jaw opened wide enough to allow him to slip in and out fairly easily. Her eyelids flutter open, and she meets his gaze, her eyes glistening, pupils dilated more than he has expected. She's enjoying this, huh?

He smirks at her, moves her head a little and tilts her chin up before he pumps his hips a little harder against her, more of his cock slipping into her small mouth. She stiffens, both hands now gripping the fabric of his pants, bracing, a sliver of panic in her eyes. He watches her closely, the grip on her chin hard as he concentrates, holds back, fights the urge to just fuck her cute little face. His breaths are quick and loud through his nose.

She holds still, doesn't fight it, and he uses that submission to move faster and eventually slips deeper, feeling his tip prodding the back of her throat. She gags almost immediately, a sudden reflex, her body convulsing against him, fingers digging into his legs, and he lets her pull back with a deep cough, saliva dripping from her lips. But he only lets her relax for so long, before he pushes his cock back into her mouth, deeper, to that spot once more, and she gags again, spit filling her mouth, coating his tip, yet this time he holds her head in place, and she lets out a pained little howl, muffled but clearly distressed.

Sighing, he grips her hair and pulls her back again, lets her catch her breath, swallow the excess spit. Tears stream down her face, her eyes are red, eyebrows furrowed, a helpless expression mixed with something like indignation looking up at him. A low laugh escapes him, and he grips her chin and pulls her back, cock slipping into her mouth, her tongue scraping along the underside, frantic little breaths through her nose, warm on his skin.

“Relax,” he tells her, and strangely enough it's that command that lets him slip deeper, past her gag reflex, further into her tight throat. It's only a few seconds though before she gags yet again, fingernails sinking into his legs, that little uncontrollable twitch as her body fights the new sensation of having her throat stuffed. She gurgles, desperate to breathe, too panicked to relax anymore. He pushes her away, and she splutters, spit and precum flying from her trembling lips, her shoulders shaking.

It takes all of him to loosen his grip on her, but when he lets go of her chin and her hair, inhaling deeply, she looks up almost surprised. Bracing his arms on the counter behind her, he closes his eyes, fighting the urge to make her choke again. That feeling when her throat tenses around his tip, squeezes him, it's something he enjoys a little too much, almost as much as watching her suffer through it, with her tears streaming down her face and her hands digging into his legs, that desperate struggle for control.

He'll force that urge right out of her, soon. Another time.

“Suck,” he grunts instead, standing still as he leans over her.

She resumes her ministrations, one hand around his girth, pumping and stroking, while she closes her lips around his tip again, sucking and licking it, keeping it far away from the back of her throat. She's shaky and sloppy, her wet slurping noises echoing through the room, her body still trembling, but she somehow manages to bring him right to the edge after all. He feels his balls tightening, his stomach tensing up, his cock throbbing in her hold. His hands itch, clenched into fists on the counter, his body shivering. So close. So fucking close...

A deep groan escapes his throat, and he leans back abruptly, grips her hair and pulls her off him, a sharp inhale coming from the girl beneath him. Her eyes are wide as she looks up at him, and he just ignores her, hooks his hands around her elbows and pulls her to her feet. She's that tiny body he can manhandle however he wants, and she ends up on her stomach on the counter, short legs dangling off the edge, feet kicking before he cages her in, one hand on her lower back, the other moving straight to the little shiny knob sitting between her plump ass cheeks.

Before she can comprehend what's happening or try to fight him, he drags her panties aside and pulls the plug out with a plop, puts it on the counter with a clang, before he grips his throbbing cock and pushes the tip against her sphincter. She lets out a surprised wail, her hands reaching back to swat him away, but he only grabs them and bends her arms behind her back, held by one large hand. She still struggles as he pushes further, forcing his tip deeper. He doesn't have time to prepare her properly, he's close to exploding.

She whines, writhing on the counter despite his unrelenting hold, and he watches her tight muscles give way to him, the grip almost as good as her tensing throat. His crown slips in, and he stops, letting it rest there as he strokes his shaft hard and fast, until he feels that tension finally dissolve. He comes with a deep grunt, arching his head back, feeling his cock throb and twitch in his hand and in her ass.

Spurt after spurt shoots into her tightness, filling her up until the first drops seep past the tight ring of muscles that clench around him involuntarily as she squirms helplessly, sobbing softly. When he relaxes against her, shoulders sagging, the grip on her arms loosening, he wishes he'd prepared her better, made her more pliant, open her up properly to take more of him. But this'll do for now. Once the twitching subsides, he gently pulls his cock out, watching her ass gape for a moment, his thick seed slipping out almost immediately.

He pushes it back in, feeling her tense muscles close around his finger. Then he grabs the plug and brings it back into position, holding her down again as she starts squirming more, the cold metal slipping into place, plugging up his warm cum. He exhales deeply once he is done, and when he lets go of her and steps back, he can't help but slap her plump cheek once for good measure.

She sobs louder, but remains lying on her stomach, legs dangling off the edge, immobile, all the fight gone from her body. He watches her as he puts his spent dick back into his pants. “What a good girl you are,” he whispers, noticing a wave of goosebumps rippling over her skin. His hands are on her round rear, gently sliding up and down, thumbs teasing between the cheeks. He fixes her thong, nudges the plug, smirks when she flinches at the motion.

Then he grabs her waist and pulls her off the counter, turning her so he can scoop her up into his arms. Despite her reluctance and the fact that she's still crying softly, she leans against him, needy little fingers digging into the collar of his shirt. No matter how hard she fights him, fights the sensations and experiences he gives her, she is clearly craving this, his attention, the care he gives her afterwards, the gentle moments after however rough he treats her.

It's a good dynamic. It'll work, he's sure. She will be absolutely perfect.

He carries her into the bedroom, carefully putting her down on the bed. She immediately rolls onto her side, knees pulled up to her chest, wiping at her wet face, avoiding his gaze as he watches her closely. When he leans down, she flinches, but he only grabs the edge of the blanket and drapes it over her small body.

“Rest now,” he tells her, straightening back up. “I'll order us some food.”

TWO 🟥 THREE 🟥 FOUR

End notes: Just a little side note on where this story is set: it could be literally anywhere (where there are skycrapers or a downtown area with taller buildings). I did not have a specific place in mind, could be any major American city, could be a bigger European city, anywhere you like to think of. It doesn't really matter anyway. (And if it is set in America, just imagine his club to be one of those more lax ones where the drinking age isn't 21 or at least nobody cares about it.)

Also, you may have guessed it, but our male protagonist is a little bit more than just a nightclub owner. I won't go into too many details, just know he's influencial, if you'd like to call it that. And definitely intimidating enough for anyone to bow before him, not just our poor girl who might just be a little in over her head at this point.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Monday!

TAG LIST: @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE◾

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN◾ELEVEN

#ao3 original work #dead dove do not eat #dom/sub #d/s dynamic #older man younger woman #size difference #praise k!nk #modern au #joel miller smut #supernatural smut #dean winchester smut #arthur morgan smut #simon ghost riley smut #cod smut #original fiction

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marsoid · 17 days

Text

answering these in one go

i got Sugar off a craigslist ad in 2016. she was listed for $9k but i got her for $8800, the seller knocked down the price literally just because he was nice and could tell i loved the car so much 🥹 my bank wouldn't let me pull out all the cash at once so i drove her home and paid him that Monday which is CRAZY but he trusted me to pay him and i did

when i first got her she didn't have power steering or power brakes (turned like a land yacht and stopped when she felt like it) so that was the first thing to address. fixed the horn and some other minor stuff that needed it. i also made the decision to replace the carburetor with EFI, which is kind of controversial in the classic car world lol but it's more fuel efficient

the EFI i had installed actually gave me the most problems over the years it was ALWAYS having issues and breaking down. but i recently had it reinstalled by someone who is NOT an idiot and I've had no problems for like 2 solid years I'm so fucking glad lol now she's more reliable than ever

she has a 350 small block V8 and auto transmission since she's my daily driver and allows for the smoothest ride possible as a commuter car. i don't race but she is fast lmao. I've never put pedal to metal but I've gotten her up to 80mph before without even flooring it so 😭 she can fucking Go lol. she kind of defaults to 30mph coasting so i have to have my foot on the brake to keep the speed limit in residentials

what else uhhh the cabin smells so good.... i love old car smell. I'm so lucky in her 53 years of being on the road she's apparently never had an owner that smoked inside the car i would have gone crazy if it smelled like cigarettes in there lmao

she has bench seats in the front and back which are like two little sofas. i used to nap back there on breaks when i was still working at a studio.

she has no airbags and you have to tighten the seatbelts yourself. there's an over the shoulder belt and separate waist belt. the passenger shoulder belt you gotta tug on after clicking it bc sometimes it comes loose on its own 😭 she is a death machine with no crumple zone so if i crash i will die 👍🏾 but I'm a very cautious driver and i don't even drive that much sooo IT'S FINE

she is very low tech besides the EFI and if there's ever an engine problem u can literally just look under the hood and mess with stuff until it's fixed. it's very spacious in there with a lot of room to poke around. cars in the 70s were made to last and because they are still so beloved to this day there's endless info online from enthusiasts about fixing stuff that pops up. some companies are still making new parts for classics so we don't have to dig through junkyards when we need replacements... unless u want to ofc, the hunt can be fun too LOL

i get people waving me down daily to ask me what year she is and tell me they used to have a Nova when they were younger or knew someone that did and how much they loved them and IDK IT'S SWEET!! ppl are always so happy to see her......... the antithesis of the cybertruck

thanks for reading here's some thirst traps

#ask mars #sugar

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radio-writes · 6 months

Note

Hi, will u do a human alastor x side mistress reader, so basically he has a wife, but he doesn't really love her, so when he's on the air he has sex with his side mistress in the radio tower. His side mistress knows he's a serial killer, by the way. You don't have to do this if u don't want to. I love ur fics.

By the Gold Ring on His Hand

Synopsis: He loved you and only you. You were his to cherish, to adore, to worship. Sweet words he whispered softy, promisingly, into your ear. Sweet words he also whispered softly to his wife.

Warnings: smut, oral (m receiving), mentions of murder, heavy manipulation, cheating

Tags: human!alastor, alastor x reader, gn!reader, reader is the other wo/man

MDNI

You've always revered Alastor.

You were entranced by the way his smile never broke. The way he seemed to take control of any situation he was put in. The he always managed to just charm the socks off of anyone he's ever met.

You loved the way he made little corny jokes. You loved the way he danced—barely drunk from the bottles of rye he downed.

And oh, did you love the way he spoke.

You could listen to him all day on the radio, just absolutely smitten and melting where you stood.

The one thing you didn't love about Alastor—the one thing you despised, really—was his wife.

That naive little thing. So meek, so quiet. You always hated the way she would cling onto his arm at parties. Loathed the way she'd shyly smile at everyone, including you.

There was just no way that delicate stupid girl could satisfy someone like Alastor.

Alastor needed, deserved, a real partner. One that had enough of a spine not to be stepped on, at the very least.

Your fingers twitched, aching to touch him more; to caress his thighs that perfectly framed your head. You wanted to feel him beneath you, reassure your heart that he was here with you.

You groaned as your longing was denied. You felt Alastor press his shoes harder against your hands, pinning your palms to the floor. The fingers in your hair tightened their grip, guiding you more strictly down his cock.

It was enough to cheer you up a little. Although your touch was declined, the little vibrations your sounds made clearly still had an effect on him. You felt a little proud knowing something as small as you moaning around him pleasured the hefty cock in your mouth.

The reality was far more bitter, though. Not that Alastor would ever let you know that.

Truth be told his grip was a warning. He had explicitly told you to be quiet, to keep your hands to yourself. But you seemed to be so adamant on testing his patience today, as you were refusing to do both.

Alastor's smile strained just a tad bit more in annoyance as he spoke into the microphone. "Hate to finish up the broadcast with some sour news, but someone's gotta keep you lovely folks up to date!"

You continued to bob your head between his legs, hidden from the rest of crew by the control panel. You made sure to drag the flat of your tongue over the under side of Alastor's dick each every time you lowered your mouth to his crotch. If your ministrations did anything for him, you couldn't really tell.

His voice was perfect, not a tone out of place as he continued his broadcast. You've never seen a man so well put together while having someone's mouth serve them so reverently.

"Seems the coppers found a couple more for the good old wooden kimonos last night. Grizzly sight it was—so I heard. Hate to be the ones to dig those poor souls out."

Even though he was the one to put them there in the first place, you suppressed a laugh. Not that you were complaining, though. It was part of how you and Alastor finally got together, after all.

Alastor finished up his broadcast, and you continued your slow little prayer on your knees. He waved his staff away when they tried to approach, simply sending them off with a friendly jest that he'd meet them at the bar after he cleaned up his work station.

It was only when the lock clicked behind his crew did Alastor finally acknowledge you. His lovely smile was intact, but you could tell his mood was a little soured by the way his brown eyes narrowed at you from behind his glasses.

The hand gripping your hair pulled you off his cock, a pathetic whine escaping your lips as he did so.

Alastor tried to ignore the—rather off putting—sight of a thin string of fluids connecting your mouth to the head of his dick. He bent down closer to you, keeping his gaze locked on yours.

"My dear, I thought I told you to be quiet while I worked." His voice was as sweet as ever.

You chuckled lightly, you wanted to move your hands to cup his cheek, bring him even closer to you. Perhaps even for a kiss to lift his seemingly bad mood.

The moment Alastor so much as felt your fingers twitch, he stepped harder on your hands again, keeping them pinned to the floor and away from him.

You opted to shrug your shoulders sheepishly instead. "I may have gotten carried away," You responded coyly "You just taste so good."

Alastor did his best not to cringe, choosing to tighten his smile. Ah, you were in one of your moods again, he thought.

"Then why don't you go ahead and have your fill of me now." His hand left the back of your head, resting instead on the sides of his chair as he leaned back. The gold band on his ring finger momentarily caught the light and drew your attention to it.

Your chest tightened just the slightest bit. You absolutely hated the reminder that Alastor wasn't fully yours. That he'd still go home to his stupid wife at the end of the day.

But not for long, at least that's what Alastor had promised you. And not right now.

You ran your tongue along the thick vein of his cock, from the bottom, up its shaft, and smiled at the sight of his hips bucking up to your touch.

"In your mouth now again, darling." It didn't sound like a request, but you obeyed faithfully anyway. You were rewarded with a soft sigh as you welcomed him back in your warm mouth.

You'd bet your job that his sweet little wife never pleased him like this. Skittish thing like that would probably run at the thought of putting her lips on a hard dick.

Well, her loss is your gain.

You were so far gone in your own head that you hadn't even noticed Alastor wasn't looking at you.

No, instead his head craned towards the ceiling of his studio, eyes closed and tired.

He was trying to focus on the physical sensations you brought him, not that he had much of an interest in it in the first place, but he tried hard to concentrate. All he had to do was finish, and he could finally leave. Leave you here with some sweet promises, and not have to deal with your disgustingly loving gaze on him until maybe his next shift on Monday.

Not that spending time with his wife at home felt any more appealing.

He pushed the thoughts away, willing his mind to stay on you instead. He thought he can finish, at least he could feel the bottom of his gut tightening just a tiny fair bit.

He focused on the way your tongue felt as it swirled around him. How your lips stretched so softly to fit his shaft. How you practically drooled over his cock. How you—

You were noisier now that you knew you were alone, and it wasn't doing Alastor any favors. A rather loud moan cutting through his mind and it almost made the coil in his gut loosen completely, his shoulders tensing instead.

No, no this just wouldn't do. He had much more interesting plans tonight than to sit there and buy your silence with his cock.

His hand reached out once more, much less gentle than it was before. With less grace and care, Alastor's hand rested on the back of your neck, before harshly pushing you down as he bucked his hips up.

Your eyes were wide, a surge of panic filled you at the suddenness of the sensation. His dick hit the back of your throat and you tried to pull back immediately.

Alastor's other hand came up to the back of your head to push you back down. Your nose pressed firmly to his skin as his cock pushed past your throat.

Your arms strained as you tried to use your hands to push him away, but Alastor merely stepped on your fingers harsher to get you to stay.

"Ah, fuck, darling. Stay like that. Oh that's lovely." You thought you heard him say.

He was finally looking down at you. The way you heaved as you choked on him. The way your body spasmed to get away. The way panic filled your pretty tearful eyes.

Your throat tightening around him as you tried desperately to breathe felt miles better than whatever you were trying to do before, and it was exactly what he needed.

"Finally," He breathed out softly, almost in a moan, feeling the coil in his gut finally snap. He pressed you down, just the tiniest bit more and you felt his warm seed flow down your willing throat.

"There we go, dear." Alastor's harsh grip in your hair loosened, slowly petting through your locks. The hand on your neck remained, locking you in and rendering you unable to pull free.

Your eyes flickered up to him, part of you ready to beg for mercy, but one sight of his dazed smile made you pliant. Your body relaxed into his touch, simply letting him ride his high out with your bruised throat.

He must have just gotten carried away, that's all. Simply something new he never got to do with his stupid wife.

You felt his softening dick slowly pull out of you, his shaft dragging across your tongue and you finally pulled free with a choked gasp of air.

A gentle hand tipped your face back to meet Alastor's before you could be too dramatic. He pressed a gentle, chaste, kiss to the corner of your lips to calm you.

"You'll have to forgive me, my dear. Your body just makes me feel far too good—just couldn't hold back." The charm practically oozed from his smooth tongue.

Your gaze softened immediately. Your hands, now free from beneath his feet, made their way to his cheeks but he easily pulled back.

Really, what on earth made you think he'd let you touch him with filthy hands. Had you forgotten he'd been stepping on them this entire time? Kind of rude, if you'd ask him.

Not that any of those thoughts showed when Alastor simply, gently, helped you up to your feet by your elbow.

"Always so good to me, my dear. How I got so lucky to have a divine thing like you service me, I'd never know." He stood up with you, part of him did enjoy it whenever he got to look down on you in a more literal sense.

He pressed his body against yours, arms on the control panel behind you as he caged you in. His lips barely grazed your ears as he continued his sweet, sweet, praises. "Why couldn't you have shown up sooner, dear? I would have had it all."

You placed your hand on his chest, failing to notice the way he flinched at the touch. "You still could, you know? All you have to do is leave that naive little thing and I could give you this every night." Your voice was low, seductive, alluring.

Alastor held back an annoyed groan. This again. His eyes rolled, not that you could see it with his head nuzzling against your shoulder.

"We both know I treat you so much better." You continued, hand trailing up to scratch at the hair at the bottom of his neck. "And I'd never hold you back from that little hobby of yours either."

He chuckled at that, you could feel his lips at the base of your neck. "My dear, we've been through this." His kisses were soft, gentle, barely touching you, just like how he preferred it. "You don't have to feel so threatened by her, it's you that I want."

"Then why don't you—"

A gasp passed your lips.

"Leave her?" Alastor continued your sentence when you couldn't. His warm tongue licked over the reddened skin he bit. "I will, my dear, I will. Things are just a bit complicated at the moment."

More complicated than you knew, really.

He couldn't leave his wife because her dad was a big boss of his station. His ass would be out on the streets in minutes if he ever hurt that shy doll.

But he couldn't just kill you either. Not when your dad was the town sheriff.

He was lucky you were so obsessed with him that fucking you once in a while was enough to keep your pretty little mouth shut.

Honestly, just fuck the day you caught him slicing that man's flesh. That scum was hardly worth all the trouble he now has to go through.

"But I'm working on it." Alastor promised as he finally pulled away from you.

You gazed up into his warm, honest eyes. You adored the way he towered over you, really. It's like you fit together so perfectly—like puzzle pieces, was it? Was that how that cheesy line went.

"And then we can be together?" Your palms move to cup his face, and Alastor caught them on instinct before they could.

But you didn't notice, not when he corrected his actions so smoothly by pressing his lips to your knuckles instead—he tried his best to ignore how filthy they are, just to hide his mistake. "Of course, darling. In fact, I think I can work things out by tonight."

Your father was going to be alone at the station.

Your eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Yes, my dear. Soon all of this hiding and sneaking around will be a thing of the past." He said, almost with the same amount of excitement as you.

He couldn't wait to toss your body in a ditch next to your old man's corpse.

"But I musn't be late"

He'll miss his chance to slit your father's throat if he lingered any longer.

"Soon you wouldn't have to be jealous of my wife, dear."

After all, the dead don't envy do they?

Alastor willed himself to humor you one last time, pressing his lips to yours before he bid you a good night.

He couldn't have rushed out that door any faster.

Who would have known trying to keep his cover would have eaten up so much of his time? He barely had any left to do the very act he was even trying to cover for.

Honestly, how troublesome.

But no matter, no matter.

He glanced back at the station. He could vaguely see your lovestruck figure through the window. He watched amusedly as you pathetically held your fingers to your lips, absolutely lost on cloud nine.

It won't be long until he was rid of you, and that fact was enough to lift his sour mood.

#tw: mentions of murder #tw: heavy manipulation #tw: cheating #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor smut #gn!reader #vien writes #I'm sorry i made alastor want to kill you #i just couldn't see him wanting a mistress for any other reason besides this #alastor only fucks to fuck with people in my book if that makes sense #if the smut seems choppy y'all can blame susan

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avidhorrormoviefan · 8 months

Text

wayne mccullough nsfw alphabet!!

i kinda got carried away and just kept adding stuff so haha yeah you’re welcome

alright before we start this off i just wanna say that wayne was so so very awkward during the beginning of your relationship but now he’s loosened up and so comfortable w you

alright here ya go

characters are 18+!!!

smut under cut

A - Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

- he loovvvees taking care of you after sex. like he always has water on hand ready to give to you if you want it. he’ll get a cloth of you need it. he also just kisses all over your body telling you how much he loves you over and over

B - Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

- he likes his hands and arms. watching his fingers disappear inside of you over and over again mixed with the sounds that you and your pussy makes drives him up the fucking wall

- he sticks his thumb in your mouth

- when he starts to get tired and his head slumps down into your neck and you see his shoulder n back muscles………

- he loves your whole body, just the fact that he has it all to himself is wild to him

- but he does like your hips and thighs in particular though, like when he eats you out and he can just dig his hands into your skin???

- and also when he can see himself in your stomach phewwwww

- man he’ll just stare at it moving inside of you

- “fuck, is that me?” you look down to where he’s staring, seeing a bulge in your stomach from his dick.

- “yeah-yeah that’s you, wayne…” he does something impulsive and presses his hand flat against it and you moan out unexpectedly.

- “holy fuck…”

C - Cum (Anything to do with cum)

- when you go without a condom (wrap it b4 u tap it) he cums on your stomach or back for “easy cleanup” and totally not bc he loves backshots

- but when you’re sucking him off and he cums and some slips out of the corners of your mouth and down your jaw and throat and seeing that j gets him hard again

D - Dirty secret (A dirty secret of theirs)

- he wants to bend you over a desk or counter don’t ask me how i know

- or doggy??? he wants to see the arch in your back so fuckin bad

E - Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

- he’s only been with you so he doesn’t really have any experience

- you’re his first everything

- it’s kind of self explanatory to him so he knows where everything goes

- he just doesn’t know what to do to add that extra layer of pleasure for you, so he has you touch yourself and puts his hand on top of yours to see what he can do to make you feel sooo good

- and fuck is he good at it

- “like that?” he says innocently as he moves his hands though your folds just right

- “fuck, fuck yeah like that…” you say lulling your head back onto the pillow behind you, moaning out as he does it over and over

F - Favorite position

- anything where he can see your face. he loves when you make faces for him

- he also loves when you make eye contact, it makes it more intimate

G - Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

- he’s rather serious bc it’s such an intimate moment between you two

- buttttt, when you both get real into it yall go hard?? fuuuck he gets into itttt

- “yeah? you like that?”

- he can get goofy though like when he realizes what he’s doing he can laugh a bit maybe

- he can also make fun of your moans, mocking them when he’s more dominant

- “like it so much you’re fuckin droolin, yeah? fuckin whore…”

H - Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

- he’s not that bad just a bush around the base

- and he doesn’t care about your hair at all, like honestly as long as you’re happy and comfortable so is he

I - Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect.)

- oh is he romantic

- sometimes he sets things up w flowers n shit all cheesy but you both love it. it shows he really cares and its so fucking cute

- makes you cum every time is all i gotta say. that’s his main goal, just make you feel good

- there’s nowhere else to put this so i’ll put it here, he puts his hand in the back pocket of your jeans please help me why do i do this to myself

J - Jack off (Masturbation headcanon)

- he was never really the type to jerk off a lot but he did enjoy the few times he was alone

- but now that he has you he doesn’t really have to

- but when you’re not with him for long enough he jerks off but it’s never as good as the real thing with you

K - Kink (One or more of their kinks)

- BLOOD KINK PAIN KINK KNIFE KINK MY GUY IS A MASOCHIST

- ok one by one

- blood kink: he loves seeing either one of you bleeding in bed, he loves the taste, the sound when you wince for him, you bet you’re covered in scars that only he can see. OH MY GOD sometimes he cuts his fingers or thumb n sticks them in your mouth, saliva mixed with either of your blood at this point dripping down the sides of your mouth and down his hand

- knife kink: I MEAN COME ON??

- pain kink: goes w the last two but come onnnn. you see how much he gets beaten up for fun you can’t tell me he doesn’t get off on it a bit

- PULL HIS HAIR TRUSTTTT

- praise + degradation, he wants to be called a good boy what can i say

- choking is a big one, when he’s fucking you missionary and his hand travels from beside your head and onto your throat, he’ll squeeze just enough to feel your pulse

- he can also feel every single sound coming from your throat when he chokes you and he loves it

L - Location (Favorite places to do things)

- fucking anywhere and i mean it. the bed, the floor, the couch, the shower, a bathtub, a car, a fucking alley. anywhere kinda private, he’ll take you wherever

M - Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

- always in the mood, he’s a teenage boy, but when you’re in the mood? just pushes him further

- whenever he gets mad though, you’re in for quite the night ahead of you. fuckin pounding into you like nobody’s business and saying the most outrageous stuff in your ear especially after he gets beaten up bad

N - No (Turn offs, things they refuse to do)

- i mean he’s down to try anything once but maybe not pegging

O - Oral (Preference in receiving or giving, skill, etc)

- he loooovvveeeessss oral like omfg

- he’s so good at it lemme tell you

- he really doesn’t have a preference, whatever yall are in the mood to do he’ll do

- he fucks you w his tongue every fucking time

P - Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

- depends on how he’s feeling but usually he’s somewhere in the middle

- he’s fast and rough when he’s mad or just feeling more in the fucking mood

- he’s slow when he wants to just be with you in the moment

- you love both sides of him

Q - Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

- he doesn’t mind a quickie here and there but he loves proper sex

- he loves the foreplay leading up to it and the closeness + aftercare, he’s very sentimental

- but a quickies always good for when you’re on the run and have time

R - Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

- down to try anything once 🤷‍♀️

S - Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

- he can go for a while sometimes three or four if he’s real pent up but usually just one or two

T - Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

- nope not really but if you have one he’ll sheepishly ask you how it’s used and you’ll show him and it inevitably turns him on and says “fuck that, i can do it much better,” and fucks you much better

U - Unfair (How much they like to tease)

- he likes to tease you just to see how far you’ll let it go, like only circling ur clit and not going anywhere from there.

- sometimes he’ll go into the bathroom w you when he knows there’s nobody else is in there and he’ll kiss your neck and maybe play w your pussy over your clothes and get you all worked up then stop

- “fucking every time?”

- “yeah.”

- off topic but speaking of bathrooms, once when yall were in the bathroom together and someone knocked he yelled “fuckin occupied” while going down on you. hot as fuck.

V - Volume (How loud are they, what sounds they make)

- he’s actually pretty loud

- he’s more of a moaning and grunting kind of guy but sometimes he’ll whimper when he’s trying to be quiet and it’s so nice bc you can hear how much he wants to be loud but doesn’t want to get caught :(

W - Wild card

- he calls you “ma” sometimes, both in and out of bed

- he doesn’t know where it came from but one day he was like “you want anything from the gas station, ma?” and you never questioned it and it stuck

- in bed he’s like “ma, please enough with the teasin”

- “needja bad, ma, please” all whiny n shit too

- shit like that AUHHHHH

- he’s a talker in bed

- “come on, one more f’me.. i know you can do it, baby”

- whenever you say his name in bed it gets him even more worked up

- “fuck wayne, please…” you don’t even know what your asking for at this point, his dick is so far in you and you’ve came already but he’s making you feel so good you just want more.

- and you KNOW his accent gets so much stronger like cmon

- oh and he follows you around like a fuckin dog, and wherever you need him for absolutely anything, he’s always in a 5 foot radius

X - X-Ray (What's hiding under the clothes)

- he’s a good 6-7 inches and does he use it well

- he’s well toned but not buff, he’s got abs and when he noticed you staring he flexes and you get all flustered and he loves it, smirking and laughing a bit when you turn away

- when you’re fucking, his stomach and arms flex and you can see every indent of his abs and biceps

Y - Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

- again he’s a teenage boy so his sex drive is pretty high

- he wants to be with you 24/7 and when he is he always has a hand on you never letting you go

- when you get in the mood you find him in the house and sit next to him, after a bit maybe move your leg on top of his, and this catches his attention from whatever he was doing. still not fully paying attention to you, you sigh and move to straddle his lap, fully taking his attention

- “what’s up” he laughs a bit

- “haven’t seen ya all day. missed ya” you say playing with his hair on the back of his neck

- “oh yeah?” he smirks, putting his hands on your hips, moving them up to your waist and down your thighs

- “yeah..” he slides his hands up to your waistband and hooks two fingers in them

- you tug on his hair, making his head jerk back and a grunt fall from his lips, smirk still plastered across his face.

- “you gonna do somethin about it?”

- and yall fuck right there on the couch

Z - Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

- he’s pretty good about not falling asleep right away, he wants to take care of you first before thinking about himself.

- you fall asleep in his arms after he gets you two cleaned up and he’s right there after you

——

ty for reading!! this was so much fun to write omgg

i’m probably gonna make a fic out of some of these bc wayne is taking up my every thought help

also happy 2024!

#wayne mccullough smut #wayne mccullough #wayne #need him bad #please #like please #hes so bbg

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delopsia · 8 months

Text

Wolfish | Bob Floyd x Reader

Word Count: 3,800 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: AFAB!Reader, werewolf! Bob, implied werewolf hunter! Reader, unprotected sex, Bob has an undiagnosed praise kink, brief over-stimulation, size kink if you squint, sex against a wall, werewolves doing...werewolf things. Brief Summary: You can't seem to keep your hands off each other today. My late entry for @attapullman's International Bob Floyd Fucks Month!

Your back slams against the locker doors. Metal clatters so loud that it echoes. Bouncing off the walls, rattling around inside of empty crevices, and squeezing through the crack in the door. Had ought to rumble its way across the building, down the street, and right into the unwitting ears of your team. Freshly deployed. Chasing the false scent of the very man between your legs.

Sure wonder what they would think if they walked in and saw this.

The obscene pressure of a werewolf's hard cock, straining against his sweats, pressing deliciously against your fluttering cunt. Your legs coiling impossibly tighter around his bony waist, sharp hip bones digging into the plush fat of your thighs, fingers trailing up the back of his neck, across short-clipped hair, to tangle in the longer strands at the top.

His warm nose bumps against your cheek. Blindly guiding himself back to your mouth, sloppy and lazy, little wet noises punctuating every motion, razor-sharp canines nipping at your bottom lip. Such an otherworldly sensation that has your head spinning so fast you fear you'll fall, arms tightening around his shoulders.

"Four times has gotta be some kind of record," Bob's tone rumbles through you like thunder, shaking your bones like fragile leaves in the wind. The cold rims of his glasses bump into you as he draws away, darkened eyes drinking you up like a glass of water in the middle of a sweltering desert.

Your head falls back against the locker, sucking in a breath. "Maybe for you," squirming. Grinding down into the bulge of his cock, absolutely and unequivocally unashamed of putting on a show for him.

"Keep telling yourself that," stupid wolf with his stupid, dumb head tilt. You can almost picture the puppy ears flopping over, begging for a good scratch. Part of you wonders if his leg would twitch if you found the right spot.

But you certainly don't mean to actually let your fingers slide from his hair and behind his ear. Blunt nails scratching at the skin there, blessed by the sound of his soft inhale. Eyelashes flutter. A boot kicks the floor. Defiantly holding himself together.

Those sharp teeth glint in the moonlight as his mouth opens. "Gonna be in so much trouble if they catch us."

Funny, you very nearly forgot about them already. Jake, Bradley, Nat. All chasing down a scent you massaged into the fur of a semi-feral feline last night. They'll find the little calico here soon. Jake and Bradley will start arguing over who's in the right; Nat will get fed up and call for backup. If there's anything you know about Javy, it's that he'll be up and have the cat found before the spat is settled.

You only have so much time before they return, badgering you about another bad scent. Even less time to get this wild-eyed werewolf in you. Devilish, you draw yourself closer to him. Nose to nose. Legs so tight around him that your bones ache. "What, not keen on telling a group of werewolf hunters you're a—fuck," it hasn't even been that long since the last time you felt his cock twitch into you. There's no reason it should have you getting wet like this. "Werewolf?"

He stumbles forward. Knocking you into the lockers again. Big hands squeezing greedy handfuls of your ass. "Call me a prude, but I ain't much for being hunted, honeycomb."

On their own, his hips roll forward. Impossibly strong arms working double time to draw you into it. And you're so, so certain that there's a wet spot staining your shorts right now. A sick mixture of your own wetness and his cum dripping out of your abused cunt, damn near sore from how many times he's filled you up today.

And yet, it's still not enough. "You really think they'd hurt you?" Your voice almost strained. Weary hand reaching between your heated bodies. Sliding those flimsy shorts out of the way, relishing in the hitch of his breath, all over the sight of your pussy.

"I don't wanna find out," he grunts, and for a second, you think he's gonna drool.

Your index finger slips between your folds. Gathering up your wetness, skin glistening with it, as your hand rises to his mouth. You don't need to ask for him to part his lips, letting two of your fingers slip past. His hot, wet tongue is so, so soft compared to the canines that brush against your knuckles. Sucks on them a little too eagerly, so content with your taste that his eyes fall shut.

"Then you'd better hurry up, puppy," you murmur, catching his tongue between your fingers. He can get away at any moment, and yet, he makes no move to.

Far too gentle, compared to the out-of-control, bloodthirsty werewolf stereotype.

"Quit calling me that," his speech is a little garbled, talking without a fully operational tongue. But he's reaching down, pushing at the thick band of his sweats, heavy cock damn near falling out of its confines. So flushed and swollen that you reckon it's gotten bigger since the last time you saw it. Audibly slaps against your cunt, between your parted folds, right where he ought to stay for the rest of his life.

Or, rather, where he ought to stay after he's done with you.

Bobby has to draw himself back by a damn mile to stroke his big, blunt head down your core, nudging politely at your entrance. You're still so loose, opening easily as he presses into you. Thick, pink tip stretching you wide, bullying his way back into your overfucked, needy pussy.

A noise draws out of your lips. Starstruck by the drag of his cock, big enough to make the dry, unlubricated glide feel like it's going to split you open. Would hurt if you weren't dripping around him, an obscene mixture of lube and cum spilling out of your pussy, coating him once more.

"That's it," you breathe, head tilting back, "good boy."

A pitchy whine slices through the air.

You haven't heard that one before.

Opening your eyes is damn near impossible, and yet, you're finding the strength to force them open. Immediately focusing on his flushed face. "What?" Your giggle is strained. Lungs suddenly too tight. "You like it when I call you that?"

He nods a little too eagerly. "Uhuh."

It's not fair.

Truly, it isn't. He shouldn't be allowed to bat those long, innocent lashes at you. Not when his oversized cock has your pussy aching as he sinks into you. It's a damn wonder he's fit the past three times because he's barely halfway in, and you're already struggling. Hands scurrying behind his neck, nails biting into the lithe muscle of his shoulders. Lungs seeming to shrink with every inch you take of him, running out of space for oxygen.

"'m I hurting you?" He whispers in that fragile tone of his, glasses glinting as he tilts his head forward.

Your head is shaking before he can even begin to stall his hips. "N...no."

"Your nose is scrunched like it is," and as if you could have possibly forgotten where it's located on your face, Bobby leans in and bumps his nose against yours. So damn warm compared to this chilly little locker room; feels like you've cozied up to a furnace rather than a man.

Defiant, your head tilts forward, foreheads knocking together. "Because you're big, dummy."

His eyelashes flutter. "Oh." Struck dumb.

As if he possibly could have deluded himself into believing that every man on this planet walks around hung like a damn horse. Even you had known it. Could see the fat outline of him in those thin sweats he loves. Blissfully unaware of the way his cock makes its presence known as he walks.

But he's finally, finally bottoming out in you. Not a damn millimeter of space left for him to fill, sweaty skin flush against your ass. It's a damn wonder that you haven't started waddling from the amount of times you've felt this very sensation today. Once in the comfort of your bed. Again, in the break room, after you got the call that everyone else would be late. And when you'd dared to venture into Bob's office, perching yourself in his lap, kissing beneath his ear until he cracked and let you ride him.

Fatigue has only recently started to settle into your bones, and by the looks of it, Bob is feeling it, too. Pretty eyes closed, completely and utterly uninterested in moving. You'd think he was asleep if he didn't suck in a breath when you involuntarily clench around him.

"Too tired to fuck me, Robby?" You murmur, raising a hand to comb through his messy hair, ruined by your own doing.

He hums, twitching out of you a little, only to push back in just as lazily, "thought ya might be sore."

"What," stars sparkle behind your eyelids; he's rubbing against that overworked bundle of nerves on every slow pass of his cock, "makes you think that?"

"Earlier," pumping into you a little faster now, finding that same old rhythm that never seems to lose its dizzying charm, "you were muttering about me bruising your pussy."

That...

"You heard that?" You could have sworn you'd muttered that while you were cleaning up last time.

When he was on the other side of the room.

"I hear a lotta things," chirping, all too friendly. There's no reason why a man should smile so innocently while his hips are smacking into your ass, "like you whining my name in your hotel room last Tuesday."

Images flicker through your memory. The coziness of an expensive hotel bed. Soft blankets and an even softer, golden glow of the bedside lamp in a room all to yourself. Wrapped up in a false sense of privacy as your hand ventured below your waistband.

He'd heard you through the damn wall?

But you can't even be mad because he's squeezing you a little tighter. Every thrust of his hips bounces your body further up the lockers. Knocking the breath out of your lungs. A weakened whine twisting through the quiet air. Too intimate of a sound to be in a communally shared room.

"And you wonder why I hate most werewolves," writhing. Arms tightening around his shoulders. Heels digging into the meat of his ass. "What else can you do? Smell when I'm turned on?"

"Uhuh," his obedient head nods. Such an unassuming motion that has you clamping down around him. Rips a groan right out of his broad chest.

His hips shift. The slightest change in angle, and yet he's driving right up into those nerves. Plush tip massaging them head-on. Has you fluttering around him like a damn butterfly. Sent into a never-ending spasm.

"Fuck," you wail. Nails biting into his soft neck. "Bobby!"

And you're vaguely aware of the way he's looking up at you. Big puppy eyes, in utter awe of the sight before him. "There?"

You're nodding before you've even recognized what he's asking. Clinging to him. Squeezing his big, overheated body to yours like he'll vanish if you don't. Worst of all, he lets you—pretty face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, the rims of his glasses digging into your flesh, where you can hug him even closer. Your cheek squishing against the side of his head.

"Good boy," gasping into his ear, "keep doing that."

A shiver races down his spine. Mouthing at the side of your neck. Whimpering beneath his heaving breath. The oversized palms that cling to your ass beginning to shiver. Slippery with sweat and struggling to maintain his grip. Growling low in his chest, suddenly sharp nails poking and prodding against your flesh as something within him switches gears.

You know it has because the tips of his ears are growing unnaturally fuzzy. Pointed. And in the time it takes for your hand to reach them, they've already turned. Looks as if the ears of a wolf have been glued to the sides of his head. Twisting and turning, sensitive and reacting to every involuntary noise that falls off your tongue.

"Bobby—" you choke. Squirming. Fighting for a glance at his flushed face. Have to tangle your fingers in his hair and yank his face right out of your neck. And he's...

magnificent.

Glasses smudged by spit and sweat and hopelessly fogged. Strands of soaked hair cling to his glistening forehead. Mouth agape. Impossibly sharp canines glint in the poor lighting. Pink tongue on the verge of lolling out past his lips like a damn domesticated dog, panting in the summer heat.

And yet, as you push his glasses up to rest on the top of his head, you find that his eyes are the same shade of sky blue. Wide and so, so eager.

His feet shift, leaning away. You back presses harder against the lockers. A gap forms between your bodies. Just enough for your hand to let go of his hair and dart between. Diving past the hem of your shirt, clinging to your clammy skin, stopping just above his pistoning cock, to find your sore and overused clit. A tingle bolts up your spine.

"Fuck, you're—" Bobby's eyes screw shut. Grunting low in his chest. A guttural, animalistic noise you've only heard him make once. "Clenching around me so fucking...mhm, shit."

You reckon he can feel your sudden contraction as well as you can feel the fat swell of his cock head. Driving into you impossibly deeper. As if this sudden wolfiness has made him larger than he was before. His angle hasn't shifted, but his oversized tip rubs right into your g-spot with a vigor that makes your legs tremble around his hips. Head spinning. Tipping back to hit the locker door.

"Robby, Robby, keep, keep—," babbling. Cut short. He's listening. He's listening. Rubbing right into those little nerves over and over and over. You're not sure if the heat coiling in your belly is from his cock or your fingers. "Fuck, good boy."

"You gotta quit calling me that," he pants, sentence fractured by a choked moan, "gonna have me following you like a lost puppy for the rest of your life."

He'd look cute with a little blue collar that matches his eyes. But you can't hang onto that idea for long.

"I don't mind the," gasping, "idea of that."

Your body is beginning to tense. Too hot for this little room. The coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter with every thrust of his cock. Pussy squelching with the motion of him, so damn wet that you fear you're dripping onto the floor below. And Bobby is whimpering again. Pitchy little noises that you can't believe are coming from your cunt being wrapped around him.

His pretty mouth can't stay shut. Already opening again. "I'm...I...I'm—"

"Uhuh," is all you can manage. Struggling to keep your eyes open. Legs growing tighter and tighter around him until, until, until—

Your back arches off the lockers with a silent cry. Thrust up into the clouds. Head spinning like a top. Spasming and cumming around his big, oversized cock without another warning. And you're only vaguely aware of the way he cries out at the feeling. Hips stuttering to a halt. Filling your well fucked pussy with his cum for the fourth time today. Twitching inside you. His head falling back into the crevice between your neck and shoulder.

It may not have been your most intense orgasm of today, but it does take you some time to come down. Brought back to earth by the kisses against your clammy skin and the nimble fingers that massage the plush swell of your ass.

Bobby looks normal again. Not a single wolfish feature to be found. Back to your same old, soft-eyed tech guy. The one who has deceived you into thinking he was human for so, so many years. Probably would have been able to keep up the act, too, had you not crossed the boundary between friends and lovers.

Abrupt, his head snaps up. Those wolf ears are back. Twisting and turning like little radar dishes.

"Shit," he snarls, and before you're even ready, he's sliding out of you. Cum already beginning to spill down your thighs.

"What?" You're helpless. Don't realize you've been placed back on the floor until he's led you halfway across the room. "Bobby, what is it?"

"Jake. Bradley." Short. Straight to the point. "Down the hall. Coming this way."

There's a tiny janitor's closet in the corner of the locker room—barely big enough for one body to fit inside of it, never mind two. Not the ideal hiding spot, but with no other exit, you've got no choice. It's either hide or be caught.

You can only hope that there isn't a noticeable mess on the floor. Or, worse, a trail leading all the way to the door.

The door to the locker room squeals open just as the closet closes. Your weary head struggling to catch up to speed, still processing the drop to the floor and the the things Bob has just said to you. Hell. The only reason you notice his arms are around is, is because of the wayward finger that dips beneath your shirt, stroking your skin.

Jake and Bradley are talking. The rumble of the voices is clear, but you can't make out a word that they're saying. It must be something funny because they're laughing. All too loud, uncaring of who they may disturb with their volume or where their voices may wander in the building.

For a moment, you're afraid to breathe. Worrying about the hammering of your heart. As if they could possibly hear the tiny thump of it in your chest.

Bob's spent cock bumps into your hip. Still free of his confines. Wet with an obscene mixture of his cum and your wetness. Proof of your rendezvous. Frankly, you couldn't bring yourself to go another round, even if you got your hands on a magical reset button. But you can't help but notice that you haven't felt the glide of him against your tongue in such a long while...

Surely, Jake and Bradley won't hear if you...sink to your knees, here...just for a minute or two...

"What are you doing?" Bob whispers, barely audible, even to you. Eyes wide as you reach for him. "You can't—are you serious right now?"

But kicking up a fuss will get the two of you caught. A risk he can't afford to take. Not with those big, wolfish ears still twisting and turning on the sides of his head. The very thing you've all been gathered here to eliminate.

Daring, your tongue pokes out of your mouth.

The slam of Jake's locker washes over Bob's sharp inhale. Too sensitive for the hellish sensation of your hot tongue dragging against the underside of him.

His hands rise. Both of them clamping down over his mouth. Eyes screwed shut.

There's a tremor to him that wasn't there before—shaking like a lone leaf in the wind. Helpless to do anything but let you keep licking at him. Long strokes of your tongue. Gathering the sweet mess that clings to his cock. Who could have thought that an identifying characteristic of North American werewolves is sweet cum? You sure didn't until he'd cum in your mouth that first time.

Hell, he didn't even know.

It's too dark to see his face, but you can feel his eyes boring holes into your shoulders. Hips twitching away, but never making the move to push your head away. Helpless to let you clean his pretty cock with your tongue, from base to tip.

If there was light in here, you're certain he would be shimmering with your saliva by now.

Whatever it was Jake and Bradley needed to do, it didn't seem to take them long. Their boots clomp across the floor. Lockers slamming shut. Loud, muffled voices grow faint as they meander down the corridor, surely heading to their vehicles, looking forward to a well-deserved day off tomorrow.

You suppose Bob has heard the back door chime because his hands fly off his mouth.

He's fortunate that you're too tired to push him much further. Gathering up the last of him. And just for extra measure, you allow yourself the simple pleasure of wrapping your swollen lips around his tip. Teasing his slit. Sucking gently.

"You can't just," he babbles, sweaty hand pawing at the side of your face, "baby, baby, 's too much, it's too—"

His cock twitches. A splash of cum hits your tongue. A heavy puff of breath sounds from above.

He's pushing your head away before you can even begin to do it yourself.

"Monster," his chest heaves as he tucks himself back into his pants.

"I could say the same about what you just put away," you grin. Rising back up to your feet. He wipes that expression off your lips with a big, wet kiss.

His ears are back to normal, much to your dismay. No fluffiness present to greet your fingers as your hands cup the sides of his face, bringing him back in for one, two, three, four more kisses.

And as you slip back into the locker room, you're greeted with a sheet of printer paper taped to the lockers. And in big, messy handwriting, it reads, "Who's been fucking in here?" With a list of possible culprits at the bottom. Their votes have already been cast, accusing Mickey and Rueben by leaving scraggly check marks next to their names.

"Damn," Bob's brows furrow, incredulous, "my name didn't even make the list." He grumbles, already reaching for the discarded pen.

You can hardly swallow down your giggle. "That just means there's more for us to get away with, my dear." Speaking as innocently as you can. Batting your eyelashes at him.

His eyes roll.

"I'm gonna dress as an old lady and eat you if you keep quoting that darn fable," but he's laughing. Tossing that pen back where he found it. Already reaching for your hand, squeezing it in his own. And with a limp in both of your steps, you venture back into the hallway and out into the parking lot. Already conjuring up your next big escapade before you can even tumble into the front seat of his truck.

This time, you reckon that you and he should go chasing a false werewolf scent for some fun in the woods. You've even got the little red coat to fit the occasion. The exact same shade of Bob's cheeks as you reveal your idea to him.

And in two days' time, when you all flood into the locker room to change, Jake will point at the tiny, squished inscription of Bob's name on the list and laugh. How funny is that? Somebody really thought their quiet wallflower tech guy was the culprit!

All Bob can do is look your way and flash you that big, wolfish grin. Unusually sharp canines and all.

#bob floyd #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #oneshot #werewolf au #International Bob Floyd Fucks Month

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zablife · 1 month

Text

Long Distance

Johnny Davis x reader

Johnny Davis Masterlist

Summary: Johnny calls from the road to check in on you. He can tell from the sound of your voice, you're desperate for him so he decides to help you...but only if you're a very good girl.

A/N: Sorry for all the requests I have piling up in my inbox! I will get to them soon. This was giving me brain rot tho. 18+ MDNI, guided masturbation, use of the term "daddy"

The phone trills once, then twice as you scramble to reach it, knocking the heavy receiver from its cradle in your eagerness. "J-johnny?" you falter softly.

"Hey, babydoll," he hums. If he closes his eyes, he can almost picture you in a pastel nightgown, brushing your hair in front of the television set as you do every night.

"Waited for your call," you simper, despite your drooping eyelids. "I needed to hear your voice tonight."

"You waited for me, huh?" he asks, a smirk audible in his voice as he realizes the need present in your voice.

"Course I did," you coo back at him and he can envision that look in your doe eyes, large and glossy as you listen to his every word with pure adoration.

"That's right, cause you're my sweet girl. So good for me," he praises, knowing how wet that makes you.

"I am," you nod obediently as though he might be watching.

"You ready for me?" he asks, even though he knows the answer to the question before he asks it.

"Want you so much," you murmur, hips rocking against the sofa involuntarily, a vain attempt to gain some kind of friction.

"Oh, sweetheart...you don't sound so good," he can't help but tease, knowing you haven't had a release in over a week. "Tell daddy what's wrong?"

You want to touch, fingers sliding down your abdomen and stopping at the band of your underwear. However, you freeze as you remind yourself it isn't allowed when Johnny's not home. The more you try to talk yourself out of it, the worse the torture becomes. The fire burning beneath your skin simply won't abate so you decide to beg. "The tingles are too bad tonight," you whine pathetically. "Please let me touch, daddy."

Johnny hums for a moment as he considers it, relishing the power he holds and then his mind is made up. "Only if you listen to my voice very carefully, little one."

Your heart leaps at his permission, chin nodding against your chest vigorously before you've even heard his terms. "Yes, yes, yes," you pant, tracing your hand along the gusset of your panties in expectation. It draws a tell tale whimper from your lips which doesn't go unnoticed.

"You're breakin' the rules, darlin'," he warns in a low growl, making you gulp and jerk your hands from your body, head turning to see if he might be peeking through the curtains.

Then you hear a good natured chuckle rumble from his chest followed by honey coated words of praise, "Just joking, sugar, want my girl to feel good all the time. But you gotta let me show you how, okay?"

You sink back into the sofa with a sigh, eyelids half closed as Johnny gives you the okay to slide your panties from your legs.

"Pull your nightie up and let it sit high on your waist now," he instructs in a thick whisper. "Spread your legs so you feel that nice, cool breeze on your pussy....But don't touch her yet."

You pant into the receiver and hear him laugh at you. "Johnny, don't!" you scold him as your crimson nails dig into the cushions, head tossed back in agony.

"Sorry, angel," he corrects himself. "Can't help but imagine you spread wide, dripping on the couch cushions," he defends himself. "My lonely little baby making a mess just cause she misses her daddy."

You bite your lip, his filthy words making you warmer by the minute. "Pl-please," you whimper.

"Oh, angel..."Johnny breathes down the line and you can practically hear him palming himself to your frantic panting. "Go on and touch. Tell me how wet you are f'me."

You trill in exquisite delight as your hand slides between parted lips, your slick coating your eager fingertips. "So wet," you echo back to him.

"Wish I could have a taste'," he murmurs in appreciation and you can vaguely hear a smacking sound in the distance. "You go on and taste for daddy like a good girl, won't ya?" he asks with a deep sigh.

"Uh-huh," you slur out in promise.

"Slow now, leave a trail up that perfect body before you suck those fingers. Got two in your mouth now?" he asks.

"Mmmmm," you confirm, pursing your lips and licking your juices.

"You taste sweet or salty tonight?" he prods, wanting to know every detail.

"Sweet," you taunt, middle finger popping from your pouty lips audibly.

"Then you're ovulatin' darlin'. Gotta get back to ya soon," he grits out, the wet sounds on his end growing louder. The idea of breeding you always a turn on for him.

"Daddy?" you whine.

"What is it, honey? What you want?" he begs to know.

"I ache," you remind him.

"Gonna take care of that right now, sugar," he promises lowly. "Rub for me like you I taught ya."

Your hand slides to your clit, fingers tracing circles feverishly now that you've been given permission. A wanton moan escapes and Johnny knows you've complied.

"Feelin' good?" he asks.

"S-soo good," you slur as your back arches off the sofa to meet your own hand.

"I know, playin' with that pussy feels like heaven, don't it?" he reminisces to himself, thinking of your soft, warmth clutching his fingers and milking his cock. "Can make you feel drunk," he adds with a sigh.

You nod in agreement, fingers fumbling against your swollen bud in satisfaction until he adds soberly, "But that's why you gotta stop when you can't think straight. Stop and count to ten."

"Wh-what?" you mutter, feeling your pulse throb in your clit painfully the moment you cease movement.

"I said, hands off," he instructs sternly. "Start countin."

You nearly cry as you begin in slow uneven breaths, Johnny humming his approval and hushing the tears he knows are threatening to spill over your beautiful lashes.

When you come to the end, he soothes you, "Good girl, I know that was hard. Wish I could see that pretty pussy clenching for me, I do," he sympathizes in the softest voice you've ever heard. Yet somehow you still want to hit him, claw at him for keeping you from your release.

"Johnny, please..." you whimper. "N-need it," you beg.

"Smack it first," he answers. As your knuckles tighten against a cushion without verbal reply, he coaxes, "S'okay, little one, didn't say I was gonna ruin it, did I? You're gonna cum hard for me in a minute. Hang on, now."

And you know he wants to hear the sounds of your palm meeting your wetness, giving you just enough stimulation to keep you on edge. Brow furrowed as your hand raises in the air, you whine against the sting, his chuckle your only answer to the question if he's satisfied.

After a long pause he sighs deeply over the line, imagining the jaw dropping sight of your red, puffy lips. "Go on, slide your fingers in," he tells you breathlessly, wishing he could feel the heat against his own hand. "You deserve it, angel baby."

"Thank you, thank you," you mutter to him as you pump your digits into your throbbing cunt, needing something, anything to help you peak.

But it isn't enough and your frustrated grunts soon prove it. Johnny knows it before you can express the thought and he whispers a solution in your ear like a savior. "Hairbrush, darlin'. Use the handle to fuck yourself," he offers.

The relief is instant, reaching further than your small hand ever could and you're a whimpering mess, dropping the receiver from your shoulder before you realize you're cumming hard.

That doesn't matter to Johnny though. He's listening to every harmonious sound over the static filled line, spilling over his hand just as you seem to crest. "My perfect babydoll," he grunts in complete satisfaction.

When you recover, you find the phone and place it to your ear. "J-johnny?" you repeat much like the beginning of your conversation.

"Did daddy make it better, darlin'?" he asks with a smug grin on his face.

"So much better," you huff out, still experiencing aftershocks as your hands trace over trembling thighs.

"Sleep tight. I'm comin' home tomorrow and I want you well rested," he reminds you, thoughts of everything he wants to do to you in the forefront of his mind.

---------------------

Tag List:

@potter-solomons

@mollybegger-blog

@gardens-light

@mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler

@buttercupsandboys

@dreamlandcreations

@kmc1989

@mayfieldss

@semperamans

@frnchgirls

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@maisie-rebloging-blog

@filmtv2022

@leenieweenie12

@lyralu91

@alfiestreacle

@hecatemoon87

@darklydeliciousdesires

#the bikeriders #the bikeriders fanfiction #Johnny Davis x reader #Johnny Davis fanfiction #Johnny Davis x you #Johnny Davis #Tom Hardy

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saytrrose · 9 months

Note

Can we see More about your racing AU please?

Looks so amazing and i love It so much

I do suppose I could share the character design line up!

I really just need to finish designing all the go karts, (atleast most are done!) and then I can make proper cards for them and really get into the written details.

To be honest it’s a little hard to just ramble about info and details without specific questions to go off of, so I’ll try my best hhh

for starters, the tent? Not a tent!

It’s actually a stadium, the amazing digital race!

And rooms? Sort of tweaked, they are more like each character owns a personal garage, a large open space where they store their vehicles and then have a loft above that showcases their cozy safe havens. Bed, entertainment, basically a small room in a much larger one.

I haven’t revealed Ragatha, Zooble or Gangles karts yet but I’ll go ahead and just talk about all of them!

Caine:

Caine has a motorcycle, specifically one inspired off of the motorcycle I’m saving up for this summer, a Kawasaki Eliminator. It’s a cruiser, I’m thinking he has a 600cc model but considering Bubble is his right hand man and operates as the races pit crew- he’s definitely tinkered with Caines bike, making adjustments and improving the engine. God only knows what the little psycho did, but it’s a damn good bike that’s not supposed to rev as loud as it does.

Pomni:

Her kart is inspired off a Volkswagen Beetle, seemed very VERY Pomni to me. Her car mimics her outfit design a lot, I might do some color changes to be honest but it will be super minimal, it’ll be final when the cards are done! She definitely stops at the pit the most often despite her placement in a race, are my tires okay?? Do I need my oil?? I know you just filled it but it went down- is anything damaged?? Sweetie you did one lap..

Jax:

Jesus Christ he has a giant supercharger on the hood of his car, and he is absolutely one of those annoying mfs that reva their engine OBNOXIOUSLY loud all the time like he’s super cool. If you’re wondering who most of the skid marks on the track are from, that’s also Jax. Hes the best as drifting, and he loves to show that off. His car isn’t based too much on an actual vehicle?? I stared at Mario karts and pieced it together, but also gave it a very sports car look, the wing on the back fr fr I think Jax would dig that.

Kinger:

OHHSOSK I was so creative with his little wagon,,, it’s castle shaped!! And the best part? Operates like a rocket. In the back past the battlement (the crown looking thing you see atop castle pillars) ARE GIANT exhaust pipes and yes, they do spit fire !! Operates like a rocket. It’s very cool! (Also he has a great muffler because unlike Jax he’s considerate of others hearing 💔) Oh also, he has one of those silly horns, I forgot how to describe it but you can just look at how I drew it on his kart and you’ll know heheh!

Zooble:

Our second motorcyclist, owns a trike! If you don’t know what that is, picture a bike with training wheels but super badass. 3 wheels! It’s inspired off the Harley Davidson freewheeler, I like that design a lot but it’s def not actually a Harley because istg when you buy those bikes your just paying for the fancy name brand- expect it to be in the shop all the time, smh not good- BUT ANYWAY!! The looks are inspired off it though and I can’t wait for this one because it’s just as crazy kooky as Zoobles design is.

Gangle:

Her kart is based on my favorite car, classic style but not too cool because you can bet she has anime stickers on the back and a decal that says “please let me merge before I start crying.” It’s similar to a karmann ghia convertible, 1963. Cherry red (so so pretty) She always has the top down, unless competing because damn you gotta go fast. That car itself is really slow, top speed normally is 68mph, however people have modified them enough to get up to 120mph. Thats still pretty slow compared to others, but her kart only reflects the appearance of the ghia! It’s much faster and I assume Bubble works on all their vehicles if asked to.

Lastly, Ragatha:

Our 3rd motorcyclist. 4 Karts, 3 cyclists. Her bike is a futuristic style, if you want a good idea then look up “icare bike”! Not so much a straight forward posture, she leans over ofc, you’ll likely get the idea when you see her bike. I’ll be honest, I haven’t gotten too into her design yet because I haven’t started drawing but!! Dark blue leds,, everywhere yes yes so cool ❤️

Sorry that’s so much 😭 but yeah! Just need to finish 3 kart designs for you guys and I can make official ref cards 👀

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #Caine #tadc Caine #Pomni #tadc Pomni #Jax #tadc Jax #kinger #tadc Kinger #Zooble #tadc Zooble #gangle #tadc gangle #Ragatha #tadc Ragatha #tadc racing au

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tfp-is-my-lifeblood-lol · 3 months

Text

Tfp Autobots Encountering the Mind-Control Cell Phones from Rescue Bots

(Because it canonically exists in the Alligned continuity, and I'm abusing that knowledge to torment my favorite little meow meows)

I've been wanting to write these headcanons. Might do Decepticons next.

Context for if you haven't seen the Rescue Bots episode "Spell Bound": A human named Madeline Pynch creates mind-control phones that hypnotize both humans and Cybertronians to dig up Blossom Vale (part of Griffin Rock)

Optimus Prime:

-He's the only one who's immune to the phones' power

-Lucky for him, the Matrix of Leadership can protect him from that kind of influence

-Because of that, he'd be the first to discover something isn't right with the humans, and eventually the other Bots when they'd start acting strange.

-He'd notice they're groundbridging to Griffin Rock with no explanation, and that they keep saying the phrase: "The project is the priority."

-Plus, their voices. Sure, they sound normal on the surface, but Optimus is very perceptive, and would pick up on the slight lack of emotion, and artificial tone when they speak.

-Throughout this mess, Optimus mainly confides in Ratchet

"What is going on?" Ratchet would muse, almost awestruck by the strange behavior of the others.

"I am unsure," Optimus would reply. "But I believe something is deeply amiss, old friend."

-Both of them would be struggling to uncover what this mysterious "project" is, and why the other Bots and humans have suddenly become so obsessed with it.

Arcee:

-She's the first Bot that falls under the spell; Jack's the first human to fall under, and he'd infect her

-Jack's responsible, empathetic personality works against him when he finds a golden cellphone abandoned at school.

"Someone must've lost this." He'd say. "I'd...better return it, right? I mean...I'd hate for someone to be freaking out, wondering where their phone is."

"I think they'll be fine without their phone for a couple of hours," Arcee would quip. "Come on, it's go-time. We've gotta get back to base."

-Then it rings

"I'd...better get that." Jack would say.

Arcee would playfully role her eyes and smile. "Alright. We'll go back after you've done your good deed for the day. But make it quick."

-Upon answering the call, Jack's whole body suddenly goes rigid. "The project is the priority."

"Uhh...Jack...?" Arcee would press, nervous about her partner's abrupt shift in demeanor.

-Arcee would vent to Bulkhead. "Something's seriously wrong with Jack," and beg Ratchet for help. "Ratchet, come on. He's gotta be...I don't know, sick, or something, right? He's not acting...human."

-But soon, Jack would attach a phone to her in vehicle mode, and she'd be sucked in as well.

-Arcee's mind control would be subtle. She's naturally stoic, after all. The others might mistake her drone-like behavior for her usual closed-off personality, even when Optimus asks her to go on a mission, and she flatly replies: "...Can't..." Perhaps she's just having a rough day thinking about her lost partners. But suspicions rise when she and Jack disappear to Griffin Rock.

-Even in trance, Arcee maintains her stealth and agility, making her a formidable opponent.

Bulkhead:

-He'd get infected by his human charge, just like Arcee.

-Miko is SUPER suspicious of Jack's strange, zombie-like behavior, so she tracks him down and calls him out on it. She'd assume it's the work of Decepticons.

"Yeah, ok, Jack. You think you can fool me. Come on, dude! You're acting like Megatron barbecued your brain! You're some kind of mind-controlled zombie! But, don't worry, Jack Rabbit! I'll find a way to fix you up. Otherwise, Bulk's gonna bash you into zombie smithereens!"

-Jack would probably have to battle Miko to get her to listen to the call, but eventually, she'd become hypnotized, too.

-Now THAT'S a HUGE red flag for Bulkhead, and, well, EVERYONE

-MIKO is acting stoic and speaking in a monotone? OUR MIKO?

-Oh, Primus, no.

"Miko," Bulkhead would say, holding Miko's electric guitar. "Don't'cha wanna play your favorite song?"

"No time..." The girl would say blankly, and Bulkhead would drop the guitar in pure shock.

-It won't be long before Bulkhead pulls Miko aside to ask what's going on.

"This will explain everything..." Miko drones, showing Bulk a strange golden cellphone.

"A...cellphone?" Bulkhead questions. "Where'd you get that?"

"Answer it."

-Poor Bulkhead is fooled. He takes the call, and now there's two Autobots down.

-Bulkhead's mind-controlled state would definitely raise a few eyebrows. At first, it'd seem like he's just deeply lost in thought, but when it's time to battle, and he suddenly has no interest in kicking some tailpipe, it's clear something's wrong.

-Luckily, he's still pretty clumsy.

Bumblebee:

-Now, Bumblebee's situation is interesting

-He doesn't get infected by Raf.

-Rather, he gets infected trying to save Raf from becoming infected when a hypnotized Jack and Miko try to assimilate him.

-Poor Raf would be like: "Bumblebee, no! You don't have to do this to save me! I need you!"

-Unfortunately, Jack and Miko break their promise to spare Raf in exchange for Bumblebee joining them, so now all the humans are under, and nearly every Bot.

-Bumblebee's mind-controlled state is similar to when Megatron possessed him, only slightly less dangerous (I mean, come on. That was Megatron. You can't get much more dangerous than that).

-Bumblebee's is also the most obvious (besides Miko, of course). Bumblebee's such a sweetheart, it's easy to tell he isn't himself. Plus, his buzzing sounds different under mind-control. It's lower, and duller.

-Even while hypnotized, Raf is the only human who understand's Bumblebee when he speaks, so the two work together, unlike the others. The phones numb all emotions, so Bulkhead and Miko, as well as Arcee and Jack seem to have forgotten they're partners. Bee and Raf mainly work together because it's practical.

Ratchet:

-Poor Ratchet's going through it😂

-It took a LOT of fighting, but he managed to scan the others with his medical scanner.

-Ratchet is the one who figures out the phones are emitting a hypnosis-inducing frequency. Optimus is grateful for his help.

-However, with everyone else hypnotized, Ratchet gets cornered, and hypnotized himself.

-Poor guy. He tried to help them.

-Mind-controlled Ratchet is pretty scary

-Keep in mind, victims of the Pynch Phones maintain their intelligence

-Ratchet becomes a precise, calculating machine. He's gonna FIND that gold, and, if you try to stop him, he'll get you out of his way however he deems fit.

BONUS: Aftermath/Optimus is goated:

-Optimus manages to save the others by crushing the phones. Who knows? Maybe he and Megatron even had to team up.

-The others are super guilty upon snapping out of it. Bee is like a confused puppy, Bulkhead is furious, and Arcee is horrified (Jack keeps having to assure her he's ok). Ratchet has, like, a hangover because his neural net is too old for this mind-control shit.

-Optimus makes sure everyone knows it wasn't their fault. He's such a kind dude.

-Madeline Pynch should probably run. Messing with the Rescue Bots is one thing, but THIS is Team Prime. Optimus may be a pacifist, but Pynch endangered human lives. That's a biiiiig no-no when it comes to Optimus. He probably won't hurt her, per se, but she's in for a world of karma, because the other Bots aren't so forgiving,

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ghostsvacuumcleaner · 1 year

Note

Hi! I saw your alejandro NSFW alphabet and I was in love! Mind doing a John price NSFW alphabet if you are comfortable?

Absolutely comfortable with my favorite dilf omg 🥵 took me a while since I'm working on other requests and I'm sorry bout that but I hope you're still around here! also I'm so SORRY this is so LONG, couldn't help myself!!! Hope you enjoy even so 😭 To work:

TW: NSFW, SMUT. MINORS DNI!

John Price NSFW Alphabet

masterlist | ao3

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

There will always be plenty of it, even if he's in a bad mood, even if he's really pissed at you: he'll always love praising his babydoll the most. After he's done with you and absolutely sure your thighs are sliding from the slick that's still down there and exhausted from intensely riding him, he'll hold you fondly against his bear chest and kindly brush his worn fingers through your hair, caressing that very soft spot in your scalp. Although you're in his office and it's kind of necessary for you to get ready and leave quickly before someone can come in and catch you fucking your captain, he'll take his time and offer you a drag of his cigar, and find it very adorable if you inhale wrong and cough; "Gotta let the smoke get to your lungs, love, inhale... that's right, good. Now let go... there you go." he'll say, while his fingertips brush deliciously calmly your bare back, contouring your spine; if you don't choke and is actually an avid smoker like himself, he'll be glad to share and will offer you cigarettes or cigars from his pack evertyime he feels like.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

You'd hardly say he has a favorite body part of yours, because he'll spare no efforts in worshiping it whole - every part of it. If he absolutely had to pick one particular thing, he'd probably say your thighs and legs. Before the two of you engaged in a official relationship, it wasn't often he could see them because you'd mostly wear those average cargo pants; the very first time you accepted to go out with the team and not so unintentionally decided to wear that damn tiny dress, your thighs started living rent free in your cap's mind. He had a hard time staring them all night long, craving it as the dress kept riding up your thighs while you danced - against other men. Almost like you were challenging him in finally coming to you after days of incessant innuendo and stares at work.

As for himself, he loves his hairy, perfumed and broad chest. He feels vivid like he doesn't in much time when you brush those small soft hands of yours across it, when you're with them all over him like you own him - particularly in those times you feel jelly when you see some other woman staring at him. Like stating he's your man. He loves it.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Before the two of you made a commitment, he was very careful with it. By that time, you getting pregnant could be a very big problem for both of you - not only because you're considerably younger than him, but mostly because he is your boss. Your captain. That could come off the wrong way for his superiors, could hurt both of your reputations. He'd grab a twisted handful of your hair, his other hand digging tight on your waist as he digs, buries his cock deep within your swollen walls - your leg bent, resting over the desk and your cunt so exposed your clit rubs lightly on the wooden surface each time he thrusts - you're going insane. You came minutes ago and there he is still fucking you dumb, making you bite your own cheeks trying to keep your voice down, till suddenly contact's broken and he steps back, pumping his cock a few times only to release his spend on your beautiful thigh, with a muffled groan. "Bloody fuckin'- ah, doll, y' gonna kill me like that..."

Today's day with the two of you dating, nothing will get him more relaxed than forcing his seed inside you, watching his own cum drip through your folds once he pulls off - and he'll gladly tell you after, that he really hopes it catches this time.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He's been watching you closely from your very first day of work. He'd never tell you or anyone else - and sometimes, he denies it to himself out of shame, that he intentionally recruited you on his team because of his crescent infatuation with your young, beautiful and strong self. It's not that you're not highly competent and good at your job, definitely not. But that wasn't his only reason to pick you, and he'll bury this secret with him - that he once in his life chose to be unprofessional, because he wanted you. But btw that didn't stop him from being tough and demanding with you, especially on your first days. heh

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's definitely very experienced, in every pure aspect of it. It was a part of the reason you grew interested on him with no time - he was experienced like none of these young guys you had before. Knows every right places, mature, caring. Bit old fashioned. It was all you wanted; It'll get on your nerves sometimes although, because you're not the only one to think that he's the hottest shit alive. Many woman fancy him, some older than you - which will get you really concerned sometimes. He'll reaffirm you whenever it's necessary, he's yours, have never been anyone's like he's yours.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

It generally depends on his mood, but again if he had to absolutey state a favorite one: on your side or behind. Stressing day at work, comes home to find you waiting for him in bed - he'll love fucking you on your side, heavy panting on your ear as his hand squeezes your perfect sized breast - his hips moving ever so slowly as his hand brushes the skin of your belly down to your folds, where he'll comfortably make room for his fingers against your clit in slow, circular movements. "God I fuckin' need you today, hun..." - he'll grunt in your ear in his raspy voice.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Not in the moment particularly, not when fucking you - but on all other times, he'll find room to be goofy and make you laugh at his terrible jokes.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He's hairy on all parts of his body, no thread. He's very clean and groomed, yes - he loves his beard and moustache, spends a hideous amount of money in lotions and perfume and combs it after every shower he takes, religiously. Wears a big beard for so long now he probably can't picture himself with a shaven face anymore.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Price is the perfect balance between rearranging your guts whenever you're a brat and he's got to teach you a lesson, and pulling multiple orgasms out of you by fucking you slow and passionately when he's affectionate. He'll have you on his lap, his arms wrapped around you, his hand supporting your back while he spares no efforts in trailing kisses from your breast to your neck, smelling your hair and letting out a low mewl to how amazing you feel. He'll be lazy, slow, move your hips ever so slow making you roll against him like you're dancing on his lap. "Mmm-" he'll moan, before taking your mouth in a passionate sloppy kiss again.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't need much of it anymore, so only in cases of much need - in mission and can't concentrate in anything else but work, some of you had to travel for any type of reason, he's really horny and you're sick - he'll do it. But as for before having you, he'd be embarassed to admit how many times he had masturbated to you in the shower.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Brat tamer, and it doesn't surprise anyone. He doms almost everytime. He absolutely loves it when you put up an attitude - not acting childish, no, when you stand up and defy him. He'll be the boss. He'll be proud of himself for marking you everywhere he possibly can, for owning you.

A bit of exhibitionism. He loves fucking you raw against his office desk or honestly anywhere else it's plausible in the headquarters; he loves it that he has to cover your mouth or else you'd be a loud moaning mess. It was hard restraining himself when someone knocked on the other side of the door, all curtains down and the slight sound of your mouth gagging on his cock. When you mentioned to stop, he forced your head hard till your nose met the hair in his groin, and oh only God knows how hard it was finding room for all that length in your throat.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

When I mean anywhere he can, I mean anywhere he can. He even would enjoy it if he had someone watching the two of you, but for the bare reason of: he's the one fucking you. He's making sure that this other person watching knows it, that you're his and only his. If anything, he wouldn't share, quite the opposite. But the idea that there's a dangerous possibility that someone catches the two of you arouse him; so, in his office, in the deposits, sometimes in the briefing room if it's late and empty.

Of course, that doesn't exclude the special place in his heart that his big, comfy bed has. He loves having you on his bed, cozy, warm, and very domestic.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Seeing you being the badass youngster you are turns him on; not exactly when at mission, because at those times he keeps himself strictly professional and very concentrated. But in the backstage, he loves it when you defy him and when you brat around - that'll give him further reasons to punish you later.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Wouldn't do anything if he gets the slight sense that you don't want to, nothing to hurt you (not for real) and wouldn't share. Perhaps, he'd love to have someone seeing it but sharing is a huge no. Watcher can't touch or get closer, only watch, while he makes you cum.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Can't possibly say he has a preference, he adores both equally. He'll love burying your face deep in his groin till you feel that little ache on the back of your throat, and keep you there till you're out of air; he'll also love burying himself between your thighs, especially when you wrap them tight against his face and squeeze it - he could die on the warmth of your thighs and cunt.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

As mentioned before, it highly depends on his mood. When taming, when fucking you rough, punishing - he'll go fast and rough enough to get you out air while trying to restrain your voice; "Hell- hm, d'you like it now, are you gonna keep the attitude- hn- now? Hm?" he'll moan, pressing your whole body against the wall, fucking you standing.

If passionate, he'll take his time with you in a slow pace, slow movements more like a dance of his hips against yours in syntony. He'll hum pretty words in your ear and promise you the world; "M' gonna fuckin' marry you, hun... have this pretty little cunt everyday."

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Although he likes to have freedom and time to fuck you straight and get at least two delicious orgasms out of you, he's a very busy man and you're too a very busy woman, and quickies are simply very convenient for the both of you. I'd say quite often, giving the circumstances - which doesn't mean that he doesn't, at least twice a week, spares time to fuck you the way he likes.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's a bit old fashioned, but he's willing to experiment if it's nothing too eccentric. If you ask nicely, he'll try; if you're not familiar with it he'll also love teaching you a bit more of bdsm, since he's bit of an adept.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Lots of stamina. Wouldn't go all night long because he simply doesn't have to, he's very experienced, good at what he does and he knows it. He knows what buttons to press to make you feel good; he lasts two good delicious long rounds, and that's enough to get you to heaven.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Again, a bit old fashioned; so I don't think he own many toys. He does own ropes he'll love to use on you, and as for the rest he'd rather use his own hands. He wouldn't refuse to use toys if asked though, probably wouldn't be too comfortable with using on himself, but would definitely use them on you.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh, he loves restraining you, girl. Days without seeing him? You won't touch, won't relieve yourself in any other way. You'll wait, patiently, agonizingly, like the good girl you are, for him to arrive. He'll let you climbing up the walls, craving him. If he's in mission, he'll send you pictures, videos - that'll make you want to scream for not being able to touch yourself while watching. When he comes back, IF he thinks you deserve it, he'll fuck you; if not, he'll make you beg. If you disobey him, get yourself ready for when he arrives. That'll be a fun ride.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not exactly loud, but very vocal. He grunts, says dirty things against your ear in a low, raspy whisper - will get moans out of you for he loves seeing his little girl squirming under him. Will encourage you not holding your voice back, and if you're in a dangerous spot and could possibly be seen, he'd shush you with a deep thrust - or by occupying your mouth with his fingers instead.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Has a picture of you in his wallet and finds it the most absolutely romantic and cute thing ever. And he's right it is

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's definitely big, but that's not the best part of it, not what really caught you off: he's thick. Swollen, a little thicker in the middle and thins towards the tip - just enough to stretch you out entirely anytime he goes inside you. Full of blood pumping veins and surrounded by a fair amount of hair, arghhh I want it

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He though he was going back to his teenager years in those first months after meeting you. Hell, he'd be craving for you for the least things - he definitely felt young again. It's high, he's not compulsive but the bare sight of your body makes him think of the nastiest things - and that's been even before the two of you actually started that fling, that later one became the relationship you have now.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

This is a very tired man we're talking about. After making sure you're okay, all good, clean, warm, cozy, not thirsty and feeling loved, he'll collapse on your bare breasts hugging you for dear life - don't you dream of waking up before him because you won't get to push him out of yourself, like - no way.

#cod fic #john price #captain john price #john price x you #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain price x female reader #price x you #cod mw2 #price smut #john price smut #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #cod smut #call of duty smut

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ssweetleaf · 2 years

Text

it’s a scream, baby!

♡ pairing- ghostface!steve x afab!reader x ghostface!eddie

♡ summary- hawkins had some serial killers on the loose, who would’a known that you’d be their victim.

♡ includes- SMUT, non-con, dark!steve, dark!eddie, knife play, blood play??, degradation/praise, cunnilingus, not a lot of plot, goes 0-100 on the smut real quick, i’m sorry, them being passive aggressive assholes, basically steddie use you right before they decide to kill you.

♡ a/n- if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable, please do not read. let me know if you’d like a little part two with like penetration and stuff !

♡ ps, i swear to god, i’ll stop writing fics about pussy eating cuz i know i do it way too much. ITS A WEAKNESS, I’M SORRY!!!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The room was a mess, the cushions that once sat perfect and pristine upon the couch had been torn— a flurry of springs and crumbly foam fluttered across the room and the few lamps that stood pride and place in every corner had toppled over, the pretty stained-glass shades smashed to teeny little pieces and stuck to the fibres of the carpet beneath you, jagged and shiny, digging into your palms from the constant clawing you inflicted to the floor. The glass drew blood, slicing through your fingertips and pooling into the crevices of your palms, though it was nothing compared to the wound that throbbed and spluttered in the top of your right thigh.

He had stabbed you— he’d do anything to get you to stay, at least that’s what he’d told you while he drove his jagged knife into the muscle of your thigh, moving it around while still deep inside just for good measure before he quickly pulled it back out again. The blood— oh god, the blood!

“There ya go— can’t leave us now, can you, hm?”

Eddie munson— that was who it was, straddling you and pinning you down with all of his body weight, a sadistic smile inching his lips upwards, bumping his cheeks and crinkling the corners of his black, swarming eyes.

He was a heavy suspect in the countless murders that scattered its way around Hawkins High, various teens going missing just to be found dead the very next day— but it didn’t even cross your mind someone like him, someone you thought was so harmless and misunderstood could do something so insidious and—

“What I tell you about keeping her all to yourself, Munson?”

Oh, what a shame— Stevie, your Stevie, paced the room with that stupid fucking mask hanging loosely from his wrist by the black elastic. You had only been dating for a few months, insisting on going slow, too nervous to go all the way with pretty boy King Steve, and he had told you it was fine, cooing soft and sweet into your ears and pressing innocent little kisses to your cheeks— you hadn’t a clue what was going on, what he was doing when he wasn’t with you and in the confines of your plush and pink bedroom.

God, you couldn’t stop the flurry of tears that brimmed along your lash line, fat tears running down your cheeks in haphazard blackened streaks, your mascara thick and clumped upon your wet lashes, nose all stuffy and blocked and globs of spit trickled down your throat with each time you tried to swallow the massive lump that just wouldn’t budge.

“Oh, honey, there’s no need to be upset, we’re here to take care of you.” Steve cooed, his lips were quirked just like Eddie’s, maniacal and so eerie, while he crouched down next to your struggling figure.

“Look so pretty when you cry, sweetheart, don’t listen to him-” Eddie’s voice was muffled against your neck, nosing against your pulse point and licking his tongue up the length of your neck in a fat stripe. “but you gotta stop movin’ or I’ll cut that pretty face of yours.”

Your throat constricted on its own accord, a cowering whimper fleeing your lips the moment he had started to speak, and another one soon after at the mention of using that knife again.

“Poor girl’s gone all shy-” Stevie cooed, mocking you with a pout on his lips and grazing a bloody knuckle against your puffy cheek— the tears were still ever spilling and you couldn’t bare to look him in the eyes, but he caught your face between his callused hand, causing your cheeks to squish and your lips to jut. “Come on, baby, don’t you wanna play with us?”

You started to sob, shaking your head fervently, hoping that this was all just some sick joke and it’d all be fine once you told them it wasn’t funny. But even when you shook your head, and when multiple please no’s fell from your swollen lips, the tip of the knife that Eddie grasped in a tight fist trailed along your neck, the blade resting far too comfortably against your pulse point.

“No?” So passive aggressive, lips curled into a sneer almost, and his grip around your face got tighter. “Well that’s too bad, ain’t it, honey.”

—

Your clothes had been torn to shreds, sharp slits ruining the fabric and deeming them completely useless, though the cotton of your underwear was still intact, the white stained with their bloody prints and your chest hammered at the sight.

It was a mixture of heavy petting and sloppy kisses, both tongues shoved against your own, swiping against your teeth and lips sucking crudely on your tongue— it didn’t matter to them that you didn’t kiss back. They’d make you sooner or later.

You couldn’t help the surges of arousal that pooled inside your stomach, your thighs clenching with each squeeze and caress, becoming transfixed and inebriated— something close to a Stockholm syndrome that had your mind reeling and hazy, utterly dumb and eager. A complete shift to what was before.

Oh god.

“See,” Eddie started, palm pressed against your stomach while he paused to press his mouth upon your spread thighs, biting and sucking bruises, little teeth marks littering your searing skin and it had you whimpering. “I always had a thing for ya, sweetheart.”

That knife of his was still ever-present, pressed flat underneath the palm that held you still— one wrong move and it’d start to slice…

“Such a shame we gotta get rid of you once we’re done, baby.” He wasted no time in pulling at the crotch of your underwear and successfully splitting it in two— your cunt on display and completely bare, the two killers groaning at the sight, so wet and warm, practically dripping onto the carpet. “You understand though, don’t you?”

“Such a fuckin’ whore,” Steve piped up, hand now grasped around your wrists, pressing them above your head, “hiding all this from me all along, huh, pretty girl.”

And it seemed so quick, Eddie’s mouth was on you in an instant, sloppy and uncoordinated, tongue trailing a long, swift line up your centre, finishing with a mean flick to your clit.

You struggled and wriggled in his grasp, causing the tip of the blade to pierce the skin of your stomach— only slightly, and you could barely notice the pain from Eddie’s ministrations— if anything it made your arousal surge further and you clenched around his prodding tongue.

“Thought she was a good girl, Stevie-” his voice was mumbled, muffled greatly by your pussy in his face and Steve rolled his eyes, a sneer lifting at his puffy lips.

“She is a good girl— aren’t you, honey?” One of his palms cracked upon your cheek in a sharp slap, heat blooming quickly, surging all the way down to your cunt, and of course Eddie knew with the way he fucked you with his tongue. “Just need to get it in that thick skull of yours that you ain’t gettin’ away.”

Your thighs shook, toes curling and your hands tried to hold onto something even while they were shoved above your head. It was a constant of tongue and spit, clit all engorged between his bitten lips and he was eating you like a champ— all that along with one of pretty boy Steve’s palms on your tits, kneading at the flesh and pinching your nipples— and you were getting so close, gonna— gonna cum,,

“Shit, Steve, wish you could feel her now,” he was mumbling and his lips were smacking, so obscene in the stuffy air, “fuckin’ clenching so tight—”

Your hips attempted to buck, his tongue fucking into your hole, slurping up the arousal that pooled there like a starved man and you stared up at Steve, big eyes blinking up at him, all shiny and sweet, glimmering with tears and he couldn’t help the way his cock throbbed when they began to slip down your puffy cheeks.

“Oh,” he cooed, mocking you still and leaning down to nuzzle his nose against your own, “are you gonna cum?”

Eddie hummed against you, pushing his face even deeper into your pussy, your slick dripping down his chin and you could hear him swallow you down in big, crude gulps.

You shook your head, a haze clouding your irises, your mouth agape and drooling, eyebrows furrowed into a state similar to bliss— it didn’t matter that there was a blade against your tummy and it didn’t matter about the stab wound that you had acquired, it was ridiculous, making you dizzy, all the blood loss, just heightening the perfect jolts to your clit.

“You don’t have to pretend, baby. We know you gotta cum, sweet thing.”

Shit—the way he spoke to you, all condescending and fake, but as sweet as honey, it was so confusing, and if you weren’t so inebriated from their attention, you would’ve been ashamed to say you were on the brink of exploding.

“Ask Eddie nicely,” he cooed, “need permission to cum, don’t ya, sweets?”

Your face was on fire, but you couldn’t help it, you needed to cum so badly— so desperate for it, so you blew out a breath and began to plead.

“P-please can I cum, Eddie—” you whined and crooned, fingers flexing up above you, wanting nothing more than to thread them through his tangled hair and tug him closer into your cunt.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” he was teasing you, as if he was actually thinking about it, the bastard. “You gotta promise me you’ll be a good girl until I’m- we’re done with you.”

“Promise!” You nodded profusely, whining up at Steve too, “pretty please can I cum?”

Eddie took a glance up at Steve, awaiting the short nod he gave the metal head.

“Let her cum, Eds.” That smile was back again. The maniacal one. It did things to you, made your stomach flip and you bucked up into Eddie’s working mouth, your gaze flipping between them both.

“Can you believe it, honey? Gonna cum for Hawkins’ big bad serial killers, ain’t that somethin?” You squeezed your eyes shut, stars erupted from beneath your closed lids, sparkly and in a haze and your muscles convulsed, the fat of your thighs squished firm against either side of Eddie’s head. If you thought hard enough you probably could’ve used it as an advantage, could’ve squeezed his head so fucking hard his head popped off, but you were in too deep, nothing could stop them, not when they had you all nice and dumb and fucked out.

“Better make the most of it sweetheart, ‘cause you won’t be around to enjoy it much longer.”

Eddie continued to lap at your pussy, watching intently while you clenched around nothing, and occasionally slipping his tongue inside your fluttering hole just to sate it.

“No more,” you were whining, gasping into the stuffy air, desperate to try and lift your hips away, already overstimulated by the short nudges of his nose against your puffy clit. “Please— I can’t!”

“Oh, come on baby, don’t you wanna get fucked?” Eddie smirked from below, his pretty hair cascading over his shoulders once he smoothed it out of his face. “I know Stevie’s real excited to slip inside this pretty little virgin cunt of yours.”

The fucker had the audacity to laugh, giggling into the skin of your thighs and trying to gnaw at the chubby flesh to stifle himself.

“It’s not funny,” you were pathetic really, speech all slurred and whiny as ever, chest heaving and clit still throbbing even after all his attention.

“You’re right baby, I’m sorry, it’s not funny.” He spoke, all while laughing still, thumb and forefinger reaching up to squeeze at your cheek. Mocking you. “Have I upset you, princess? You mad at me?”

“Come on Eddie, we haven’t got all night. Pretty girl’s already getting woozy, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

He was right, you were getting woozy. Your eyelids were already starting to get all droopy and heavy, lashes fluttering and fat tears still slipped down your cheeks.

Eddie finally emerged from his little perch between your thighs, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand and leaning to press a wet kiss to your cheek.

“Such a good girl, sweetheart, not even struggling.” Your face flushed, “you ready, honey?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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#steddie x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #Steve harrington smut #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steddie x y/n #steddie smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x y/n #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfic

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